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WOMAN'S HONOR 


BY 


ERNEST YOUNG 

Author of “BARBARA’S RIVAL,” Etc.. Etc. 



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A WOMAN’S HONOR. 


A NOVEL. 


✓ by 

e. .a.. ^roTxusro-, 

H . ' . ' 

AUTHOR OF “ BARBARA'S RIVAL? ETC . 


NEW YORK: 

John W. Lovell Company, 
14 and 16 Vesey St. 

Vv \ 











CDPYRIG-HT. 

1885 , 

• • ' ' •- - 1 

By Geo. W. Ogilvie. 








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PRINTING AND QOOItOlNDlNG COMPANY. 

9 

NEW YORK. 




A WOMAN’S HONOR 


CHAPTER I. 

Chester’s wi*e. 

“ Undoubtedly he will relent and turn 

From his displeasure.”— Milton. 

u I can go alone, Chester. You need not bore yourself 
with my society. It is altogether unnecessary.” 

The words were spoken with a hauteur of tone and 
gesture which were quite unusual to the speaker. She 
slowly arose from her half-reclining posture upon the 
rustic bench, and turned away with an assumption of in- 
difference. 

Chester Boynton, who had been lying upon the velvety 
grass near her for the last hour, slowly faced her, a slight 
frown setting upon his brow. 

“ I find it very pleasant here,” he slowly said, a tinge 
of coldness in his tone. 

“ Then remain, by all means,” the young wife retorted 
with the sharpness prompted by pique. 

“ I wouldn’t have you disturb yourself to please me for 
anything,” she continued, moving slowly, yet resolutely 
up the slope. “ It appears we can do nicely without each 
other of late. When we are together something unplea- 
sant is sure to be said, and we both get angry. Of course 
the blame all lies with me, for you think it does. It is 
strange that your wonderful power of reading human na- 
ture did not teach you better than to bind yourself for 
life to one of my disposition. For I didn’t mean to de- 
ceive you. We quarreled before we were married!” 

Mr. Boynton averted his face while she was speaking* 
whether to hide a smile or a frown could not be seen. 

“ You will fall into a better mood by and by, Tracy,” 
he said. (5) 


6 


Chester’s wife. 


There was more of carelessness than reproach in his 
tones. It had better been plain reproach, for there is 
nothing so dangerous as an assumption of indifference 
toward a sensitive soul. 

Mrs. Boynton was keenly sensitive, imaginative, affec- 
tionate. She was beautiful herself, and an admirer of 
the beautiful. There was much in her character which 
was rare and loveable; yet it was not goodness nor amia- 
bility without alloy. That never exists in this world — . 
and it is perpetually looked for; hence arises perpetual 
disappointment. 

Tracy Boynton quickened her steps, unmindful of the 
increasing steepness of the ascent. For the scene was 
upon a mountain side, near a small, quiet summer hotel 
perched upon a grassy plot with a steep, zigzag road be- 
low and an almost perpendicular pathway above. In a 
moment the young wife had passed beyond the view of 
Mr. Boynton. 

Toward the base of the mountain the sides were cov- 
ered with patches of verdure, mottled with gray rocks and 
shaded by clumps of trees. But as you ascended the 
way became steeper, and the rocks predominated, grow- 
ing rugged and sharp. In places steps had been chiseled 
to make the heights more easily accessible. There were 
occasional tufts of grass and shrubbery all the way, grow- 
ing from clefts, and sustained by thin patches of soil. 

Tracy Boynton ran up the path with a reckless swift- 
ness. There were places where a misstep would have 
cost her her life — or at best fractured limbs But in the 
heat of her resentment she tempted fate. What if she 
should fall ? she asked herself. W ould her husband care ? 
If he did care, why did he refuse to humor her wish, and 
climb the steep at her side? 

Of course these questionings were unreasonable, and 
when the flash of anger was past she would see them to 
have been so. But now her resentful feelings were fed 
by them, and as she ran on and on she almost wished that 
she might fall and be killed — by accident. 


CHESTER 7 S WIFE. 


7 


She reached a small level space. There was a large 
tree — a white maple — shading the little oasis upon the 
ledgy mountain-side. It was a lovely spot, with its cool 
shade, the brisk breeze, the cool spring of water in a 
natural cleft, and the world bright and warm spread be- 
low. 

Flushed and panting she sank down beside the tree, 
and leaned her throbbing brow against the rough bark. 
A few passionate tears came into her eyes. But she 
brushed them away with one slender hand, and gazed 
resolutely upon the enchanting landscape spread below. 

The heat of her impulse passed away almost impercep- 
tibly. She pesently found herself wondering if her hus- 
band was not even then climbing the ascent in quest of 
her. She bent eagerly forward, in hopes to catch a 
glimpse of him before he should perceive her. 

But the moments passed and Chester Boynton did not 
appear. 

“I’ll wait till he does come?” she said aloud, her sweet 
face brightening with a smile. 

“I’ll cure him of his ugly whims,” she continued, her 
tones half-playful, half resentful. “ He is so glum of 
late that he needs stirring up. It is all because of those 
dreadful classics. He buries himself in them so deeply 
that it never occurs to him that his young wife is pretty 
and childish. For I am pretty, and I can see it so plainly 
in the face of everybody who looks at me. Not that I 
care about it, only for him. But for my husband I had 
as soon be as ugly as Herate!” 

Tracy’s soliloquy was as earnestly spoken as though it 
were to father-confessor. She rose to her feet and paced 
the level space to and fro. Then she went and drank 
from the spring, dipping the water with the cocoanut 
shell cup. 

An hour passed. The delicious breeze suddenly died 
away, and as suddenly the brigntness upon the landscape 
below became overcast by a dark, creeping shadow. 

Tracy Boynton did not notice this shadow until it 


6 


CHESTEK S WIFE. 


reached the immediate vicinity of the huge maple. Then 
she was startled, not only by the increasing darkness, but 
by an abrupt, heavy rumble, as though a large boulder 
had become detached and was rolling down the mountain- 
side. 

An upward glance explained it all, and Mrs. Boynton 
was thrilled by an impetuous wish to descend to the 
hotel. 

It was one of those sudden summer storms, that come 
up so quickly, and sometimes develop so much fury. It 
had gathered in the southwest, and the heights of the 
mountain had hidden until it was nearly overhead. 

Tracey started toward the path, bent upon leaving the 
spot which a moment before was so attractive, but which 
now had become so lonely. 

Upon the instant, however, another impulse seized her, 
and she returned with resolute face to the spring, and 
seated herself upon a broad, flat rock. 

“ Chester must have seen the storm coming,” she ex- 
claimed aloud, her lips fluttering with a renewed sense 
of injury. “And he ought to have come in quest of me. 
How does he know that I am not detained by a mishap? 
Would he leave me to face the storm alone, upon the 
mountain-side? If he cares, he will come. If he doesn’t 
come, then I will stay!” 

The resolution once taken, found justification through 
a new course of reasoning. She was angry again ; and in 
anger no decision can be right. 

It soon became evident that she could not have reached 
the hotel before the storm broke, even if she had attempt- 
ed to do so. 

A swift, fitful gust awept through the great maple, caus- 
ing it to shiver, as with dread. A dash of large rain drops 
at the same time splashed and rattled all around, and 
then ceased. Then came another dash, a dull gleam of 
lightning, a nearer growl of thunder, and last a low, in- 
creasing roar of falling rain. 

Tracy Boynton was mortally afraid of lightning; she 


Chester’s wife. 


9 


liad once received a shock from a passing bolt, and had 
never recovered from tlxe sense of dread with which it 
had inspired her. And now realizing the loneliness and 
possible peril of her position, she crouched upon the rock, 
covered her face with her hands, and trembled with a 
wild, overpowering fear. 

She was speedily drenched with the rain; little rivue- 
lets trickled around her, while the rock upon which she 
sat threatened to become submerged. Yet she dared not 
•stir. The lightning glared, the thunder crashed, and in 
the dread inspired by these, minor discomforts were for- 
gotten. 

The moments passed slowly enough. It seemed like 
an hour after the storm began that she was aroused from 
her lethargy of dread by a new sound. In reality the 
period was less then ten minutes. 

She uncovered her face and sprang eagerly to her feet, 
with a cry of joy; Chester had come — no! It was not 
her husband. The one advancing was taller than Mr. 
Boynton, and unmistakably handsomer. 

The man paused, staring at the slender, dripping fig- 
ure before him. His clear, blue eyes expressed first, won- 
der; then recognition; and then, pleasure. He sprang 
forward, held out both hands in a frank, eager way. 

“ Tracy Sherman, as I live! ” he cried. 

His was a cheery, musical voice; and for the young 
wife of Chester Boynton it brought only pleasant recol- 
lections. She permitted her hands to rest for a moment 
in his cordial grasp, forgetting for the instant the situ- 
ation and even her identity.* But it all flashed back upon '• 
her quickly enough. 1 

“You forget, Mr. Temple,” she returned, a slight 
flush relieving the pallor of her face. “ I’m no longer 
Tracy Sherman. I am — ” 

“ Mrs. Chester Boynton,” he supplied, as she hesitated. 
Did she imagine it? Or was there a tinge of regret in 
his tones, matched by a slight contraction of brow? If 
they were really present, they passed quickly enough. 


10 


CHESTER’S WIFE. 


Philip Temple could never wear a moody brow for more 
than a minute at a time. 

“ I did forget for an instant — because I was so sur- 
prised, I suppose,” he went on. There came a vivid 
lightning flash just then, and the succeeding thunder 
was so heavy that he could not have made himself heard 
had he wished to do so. 

Besides, Mrs. Boynton was holding her hands to her 
ears, to shut out the deafening crash. 

“ Isn’t it terrible!” she breathlessly exclaimed, a mo- 
ment later. 

“ Bather wet, to be sure,” Mr. Temple replied. At 
the same time a look of amused perplexity came into his 
eyes, and he asked: 

“ Isn’t this a new freak of yours, Tracy? I don’t rec- 
ollect ever seeing you select such a spot as this for wit- 
nessing a thunder storm. I thought you used to be 
timid.” 

“ I am timid,” she hastened to reply. Of course she 
could not tell him why she was there, nor why she had 
not returned to the hotel. So she hastened to add : 

“ I didn’t see the storm until a moment before it be- 
gan raining, so I preferred remaining to making an at- 
tempt at descent. It is so steep, you know.” 

“A wise decision. And your husband — he is at the 
hotel, I suppose ? ” 

“ It is more likely that he is looking for me,” she de- 
clared, quickly. Hot for the world would she have Philip 
Temple suspect the truth. 

“And the poor fellow is doubtless in a fever of anxi- 
ety,” the other hastened to say, adding : 

“ It is cruel to keep him in such suspense. Permit 
me to assist you to descend. The storm is nearly over. 
And then you can present me to your husband, for I’ve 
a curiosity to see such a lucky fellow ! ” 

This was spoken in a light vein, and from another 
would not have been noticed by Mrs. Boynton. But she 
. had reason to believe that this man by her side consid- 


THE NEW COMER. 


11 


ered Chester Boynton as especially fortunate in winning 
what he had failed to secure. 

Five years ago — how much had happened since ! — she 
had refused an offer of marriage from Philip Temple. 
And this meeting upon the mountain-side, amid the din 
of the elements, brought back old memories with pecu- 
liar vividness. And, vaguely, she wondered if he had 
outlived his disappointment. 

“ Yes, let us descend,” she said, with a nervous shiver. 
“ There may be showers follow this one, and I should 
feel safer at the hotel.” 

She took his proffered arm, and together they began the 
descent. Reaching a level place, a short distance below, 
they paused to take breath. 

The rain was falling heavily still, and it was evident 
that the storm had not spent itself. Indeed, it seemed 
to be gathering strength for another and stronger out- 
burst. 

They were about to proceed over the slippery rocks, 
when they were blinded by a vivid blaze of lightning, 
accompanied by a terrible crash. 

Philip Temple caught the form of his companion in 
time to prevent her from falling down the declivity. For 
a moment her head dropped upon his shoulders, and her 
eyes were closed. But they opened quickly, and in time 
to behold a look upon his face which was not soon for- 
gotten. At this juncture a third figure appeared upon 
the scene. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW COMER. 

“ Confidence then bore thee on ; secure either to meet no danger or to find 
matter of glorious trial.”— Milton. 

The new comer was Chester Boynton, and he sprang 
forward with pallid face, at the same time Mrs. Boynton 
stood erect, summoning all her strength for the effort. 


12 


THE NEW COMER. 


“ Thank heaven!” the husband exclaimed, throwing a 
protecting arm about her tottering figure. 

For a minute they stood mutely gazing at each other. 

A small tree within a dozen paces of where they were 
standing had been riven by the electric bolt, and it 
seemed as though their lives had been spared by a special 
providence. 

Philip Temple was the first to break the silence. 

“ That was very close,” he exclaimed, in a voice whose 
calmness Tracy admired even then. And he added, in a 
solicitous tone: 

“ I feared that you had received a shock, Mrs. Boyn- 
ton. You were dreadfully white — and I guess I was 
too.” 

“ She is peculiarly sensitive to a fright of this kind,” 
Mr. Boynton gravely replied. His speech and ex- 
pressions were as unlike the lightness, grace and frank 
sincerity of Temple’s as could be imagined. 

Which was the better man it would be hard to judge, 
even for a mutual friend. Yet they were in no way 
alike. 

The spell was broken, and Mrs. Boynton’s self-posses- 
sion returned. Her escape seemed to lend her an in- 
creased sense of security. 

“ I am fated to be scared by lightning ” she said, 
with a faint smile. And then, as though suddenly recol- 
lecting she added: 

“ I beg pardon, Chester. I will present to you an old 
acquaintance and friend, Mr. Temple — my husband, 
whom you so desired to meet, Philip.” 

The gentlemen shook hands. Philip’s hand -clasp was 
warm and friendly ; that of Mr. Boynton was more formal. 
Their glances met also, and what was to prove a fateful 
acquaintance began. 

The rest of the distance to the house was soon accom- 
plished, and when they reached their destination the 
storm had nearly ceased. 

A little later the trio were seated upon the hotel ver- 


THE NEW OOMER. 


13 


anda, which went entirely around the building. There 
were other guests there also, but they were gathered 
in groups, and did not intrude upon each other. 

“A charming place for the summer months, isn’t it?” 
Philip Temple remarked. He sat facing Mrs. Boynton, 
and the latter watched the play of light and shadow upon 
his handsome features with curious interest. 

“ Bather pleasant,” admitted Boynton, less enthusi- 
astically. 

“ Chester never found any spot upon this earth quite 
charming,” declared Tracy. 

“Is that so?” and Temple laughed, adding: “How 
queer, when I’m charmed wherever I go! There’s such 
an abundance of beauty everywhere; and I am perpetu- 
ally impressed with the novelty of living. There’s some- 
thing new, pleasant or unpleasant, happens every day. 
I’ve encountered both to-day, though the unpleasant, 
coming in a flash of lightning, was rather trancient, I 
hope the pleasure will be more lasting.” 

He glanced toward Tracy as he spoke, and the bright 
smile which he saw there recalled with vividness the old 
days when he had lived, as it were, upon Tracy Sher- 
man’s approval. 

“ This is a pleasant place enough, to be sure,” Boyn- 
ton admitted, his gaze fixed upon the rugged face of 
the mountain. 

“ It is quiet, and gives one an opportunity to think. 
And there are queer people here at the hotel whom I like 
to study. Yonder comes one of them now — a regular 
budget of eccentricities.” 

“And as ugly as a bear, you might add,” supplemented 
the young wife, with a pretty, deprecatory gesture. 

The object of Boynton’s remark was coming toward 
them, from a lonely seat upon the lawn, where he had 
been dozing under the full glare of the afternoon sun. 
He was a thin, pale man, with a monstrous black mous- 
tache and heavy brows that lent his countenance a fierce 
expression. He had a furtive way of looking at people 


14 : 


THE NEW COMER. 


which was sufficient to make a nervous person afraid, 
of him. He came directly to where they were sitting, 
and Boynton presented Philip Temple in a formal way. 

The eccentric man was known simply as Mr. Brock. 

( 1 Cool after the shower — eh?” he observed, furtively 
glancing from the face of Mrs. Boynton to that of the 
young man. 

“ Cool, did you say?” Philip returned, in surprise. It 
had seemed to him decidedly sultry with the glaring sun- 
shine and humid atmosphere. 

“ Yes, cool,” Mr. Brock insisted, knitting his heavy 
brows. 

It seemed to iritate him to have his assertion ques- 
tioned. 

“Hot quite so warm as before,” Philip courteously ad- 
mitted. 

Mr. Brock, he noticed, wore rather heavy clothes, and 
he had a habit of shrugging his shoulders frequeutly, as 
though he was suffering from a chill. 

“ I didn’t know as it had been too warm,” he said, in 
his quick, impatient manner, adding: “It’s curious that 
everybody complains of the heat the first comfortable day 
we have in summer. It’s curious, too, that so many go 
to the mountains to keep cool. I go there to keep warm. 
If the sun would only shine all the time, and there was 
no shade, I should succeed pretty well. But it’s chilly 
now — and damp!” 

" The eccentric man fixed his keen eyes upon the face of 
Mr. Temple as though he expected a contradiction. But 
none was forthcoming, although Philip could not repress 
a smile. 

“ I suppose you’ve come to remind me of our accus- 
tomed stroll, Mr. Brock?” Boynton questioned. 

“Yes, of course,” the other hastened to say, adding, 

“ your friend won’t mind, I’ll warrant. Hor your wife, 
either. They can spare you and I, better’n not!” 

This observation was suplemented by a low chuckle, 


THE NEW COMER. 


15 


which was the nearest approach to a laugh ever indulged 
by Mr. Brock. 

An indignant flush leaped into the cheeks of Mrs. 
Boynton, and a sharp retort trembled upon her lips. But 
the impulse was controled, partly because her resentment, 
at that moment was transferred from Mr. Brock to her 
husband. 

“ They will excuse us, to be sure,” Boynton declared, 
rising to his feet and crossing the veranda. 

Had he given liis wife so much as a passing glance, 
the intense expression of her face would have detained 
him. But he did not. He knew that she disliked Brock, 
and so he thought it rather a kindness to her than otherwise 
to lead the crotchety individual away, humoring his whim 
at the same time. 

And so they walked away together, quickly disappear- 
ing from view. 

Philip Temple, keenly observant, saw the look upon 
the young wife’s face. He had noticed other expressions 
also, during the brief time which he had passed with 
them, which filled his mind with vague, unwelcome con- 
jectures. 

It seemed to him that Chester Boynton and his young 
wife were not upon the best of terms with each other. 
There was certainly a marked contrast in their tempera- 
ments. Was it possible that Tracy was not quite happy? 

Philip vanished the question the moment it flashed 
upon his brain. He had no right to ask it, even within 
himself. All married people have their little differences ; 
otherwise their existence would be a paradise. Thus he 
reflected; and he again ventured to meet the gaze of Mrs. 
Boynton. 

“I don’t see how Chester can endure that man’s 
society! ” she exclaimed, with an involuntary shudder. 

“ Enjoys his oddities, I suppose,” Philip returned. 

“ Partly that.” She hesitated, gazing after the retreat* 
ing figures, and then went on impetuously: 

“He is studying his character, I expect — Chester 


16 


THE NEW COMER. 


studies everybody, and everything. He studies me, and 
he will study you, and then he will analyze us, as though 
we were a doubtful drug and he a chemist. That Brock 
he considers as a type or character. To me he is a snake 
— always cold, and stealthy, and delighting to sun him- 
self upon a rock at noonday. I ? m afraid of him!” 

Tracy Boynton’s tones were very low; but the impet- 
uousness of her utterance betrayed pentup emotions 
which she dared not wholly confers. It almost seemed 
to her companion that she was about to confide her dis- 
appointment to him — if she were disappointed. He 
experienced in that moment a wild wish that she would 
do so. It would be so pleasant to repay her confidence 
with chivalrous advice. For he would act a chivalrous 
part, and if aught were causing husband and wife to drift 
asunder, he would exercise all his influence to bring them 
together again. It did not even occur to Philip Temple 
that for him to act as a mediator between these two were 
perilous to them all. 

“ Your husband seems like a thoughtful man,” Philip 
observed, after an embarrassing period of silence. 

“ He thinks too much upon great things,” was the 
quick reply. 

Tracy laughed nervously and added: 

“ Oh, he is a great way above me in thought and aspi- 
ration. It is a wonder that he can care for me — and yet 
he does ! ” 

This last was added, as though to counteract any con- 
trary impression which her words might have made. 

“ It can’t be that he looks down upon you?” Philip 
questioned, with an indignant flash. 

The laughing response to his earnestness brought a 
flush of embarrassment to his cheeks. 

“ Oh, no. We look up to each other! ” was the reply. 

From that their conversation drifted into lighter chan- 
nels. Tracy could not help but realize that they had a 
great deal in common to talk about. She was surprised, 
and pleased, to find that he was cultivating an artistio 


HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 


IT 


taste. She was doing the same. They entered upon a 
discussion of the modern landscape painters. Philip had 
met Thomas Hill, whose interpretations of wild western 
and mountain scenery are so famous. 

“ He is an eccentric but genial, whole-souled fellow,” 
the young man declared, in a glow of enthusiasm. “ I 
have his photograph over at the cottage. Didn’t I tell 
you? I’m stopping with a rugged .young farmer over 
yonder — not more than a mile, I think. And this re- 
minds me — they’ll be waiting supper for me.” 

Philip sprang to his feet, glancing at his watch. Two 
hours had passed; the sun had disappeared behind the 
trees; a silvery crescent was brightening through the 
somber purple of the western sky. 

They were alone upon the veranda; they had not no- 
ticed that the other guests had entered the house. 


CHAPTER III. 

HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 

“Yes, it is haunted, this quiet scene, 

Fair as it looks, and all softly green. 

—Mrs. Remans . 

Mrs. Boynton rose also, a little startled to find that 
they were entirely alone. 

“ They must have all stolen away upon tip-toe, or we 
should have heard them,” she said, with a light laugh. 

She glanced upward toward the towering face or the 
mountain, with its alternating patches of light and 
shadow. Then her gaze was turned upon the path which 
her husband and his strange companion had taken. 

“ Mr. Boynton must find the society of his eccentric 
friend extremely fascinating,” Temple remarked, noting 
the slight shadow of displeasure which had suddenly 
fallen upon her face. 

“ I wish he would return,” she replied. 


18 


HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 


“ Are they accustomed to indulging in such protracted 
strolls?” 

“ They have been away together several times. They 
have never remained so long as this, however. It is 
very strange that Chester can find the society of that 
cold, snaky Mr. Brock so agreeable. I wish he would 
go away. I feel a premonition sometimes that he is to 
prove my evil genious. He gives me the shivers every 
time I look at him. Indeed, I can tell when he is near, 
although I do not see him — he taints the very air!” 

Philip moved toward the steps leading to the path. 
At the rail he paused and looked back. 

“ Good night,” he said. 

Tracy advanced quickly and gave him her hand. 

11 a " 1 e questioned. 



remain at the cottage for a 


month — perhaps not so long. I shall see you often while 
I stay. I hope to grow better acquainted with Mr. 
Boynton. But he studies everybody so closely, according 
to you, that I shall be a trifle afraid of him.” 

c( He won’t harm you — he will like you, I know,” she 
replied, somewhat eagerly, as though she were voicing a 
wish rather than a prediction. 

“We shall become fast friends, without doubt.” In 
the interval of silence that ensued a whippoorwill, which 
had alighted upon a rock close by, burst forth in its clear, 
prophetic song. 

The weird melody added to the witchery of the hour 
and scene, and Philip Temple lingered, listening, absorbed 
in a sense of dreamy contentment, forgetful alike of pres- 
ent and future. 

The cessation of the song broke the spell. 

“ It is growing cool and damp,” he quickly exclaimed, 
in sudden solicitude, for his companion shivered at the 
moment. 

“ I have been thoughtless in keeping you here so long. 
I’ll not detain you another moment.” 

He ran down the steps and hastened briskly away. At 


HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 


19 


a turn of the path he glanced backward. The moon was 
obscured for the moment by a small cloud, and the hotel 
looked like a huge, shapeless monster in the gloom. It 
seemed to him that Tracy Boynton was standing where 
he had left her. 

Was she looking after him ? Ho, it was more likely 
that she was looking for the return of her husband. 

Philip Temple faced resolutely about and walked rap- 
idly along the lonely path, striving to break the spell 
which was upon him by whistling a Hornpipe. 

The path led in a zigzag course along the lower slopes 
of the mountain’s base. There were trees upon either 
side ; there were also occasional rocks, hugh and rugged. 
Beyond one of these Philip caught the glimmer of a 
light, and instantly he halted, surprised and wondering at 
the discovery. 

The light twinkled through the swaying twigs of a 
clump or small birches which grew close to the rock. 

Philip hesitated a moment, and then started toward 
the light. The way was rough, and almost impassable 
with dense undergrowth and wild clamatis. There were 
raspberry briers growing thickly from rocky clefts, and 
these clung tenaciously to the young man’s garments. 
Still the light, and his own curiosity, beckoned him on, 
and he pushed forward persistently. lie succeeded in 
getting through the thickest of the shrubbery, and looked 
again for the light. 

But it had disappeared. 

“ A queer go, anyhow!” he impatiently exclaimed, irri- 
tated to find that his persistence had been in vain. 

He halted and glanced about him. It was a lovely 
scene. There were trees, rocks and undergrowth upon 
every side. In the gloom every object appeared vague in 
Outline, unreal in substance. 

“ Halloa!” he shouted — or rather uttered, for the call 
could not have been heard a dozen rods away. 

There was no response, a soft breeze rustled the shrub- 
bery in a stealthy way. The distant cry of a whippoor- 


20 


HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 


will came to his ears, and he wondered if it was the same 
to which he and Mrs. Boynton had listened a short time 
before. 

“ Bah! — why do I loiter here?” he muttered, interrupt- 
ing his own fancies. 

He hastened to work his way hack to the path. When * 
he had reached the latter he glanced back, and with a 
thrill, saw again that twinkling light which he had at- 
tempted to reach! 

It was in the same spot as when it first caught his eye. 
It seemed as though he had to pass through the interven- 
ing bushes and shrubbery to reach it. 

“ I believed this spot is bewitched!” he exclaimed. For 
an instant his nerves thrilled with the conviction that he 
had chanced upon one of those w r eird occurrences of 
which superstitious humanity is forever citing instances, 
while they pretend a disbelief in the supernatural. 

Philip Temple hesitated between the impulse to inves- 
tigate the curious incident, and the wish to reach his des- 
tination. 

“ Some one is encamping upon the mountain-side, and 
is out with a lantern,” he said to himself. Still the light 
twinkled before his vision in a tantalizing way, and half 
against his inclination he found himself once more push- 
ing his way through the bushes and vines. He reached 
the opening, and again looked for the light. With the 
same result as before! — for it had disappeared. Then he 
began a careful exploration of the vicinity. He peered 
through thickets, behind rocks. He stepped into unseen 
pitfalls, and at last fell upon rocks and was nearly stun- 
ned. 

Regaining his feet; he returned to the path warm, ex- 
cited, half-angry with himself, and the tantilizing mys- 
tery. And there, to add to his irritation he saw again 
that twinkling light, in the same spot, and as bright as at 
first. 

“ I think my brain is a little out of trim,” he declared, 


I 


HIS ECCENTRIC FRIEND. 


21 


impatiently turning his back upon the glimmering mys- 
tery. 

He qnickly left the spot behind, and five minutes later 
came in sight of a light which did not vanish nor retreat 
as he approached. 

The Cottage was small, plain, yet picturesque, sur- 
rounded as it was by the rugged scenery of the mountain. 

In the doorway a short, stout man was standing, smok- 
ing a pipe. He stepped outside to make way for his 
guest as the latter came up. 

“ Guess you’ve lost your supper, Mr. Temple,” said 
the young farmer, taking the pipe from his lips and hold- 
ing it in a half deferential way. 

“Have I? I’m glad of it, on the whole — I wasn’t 
hungry,” Temple returned. 

“ I guess J enny ’ll fix up somethin’ for you, if you’ll 
go in. We waited a spell, and then I told her we might 
as well eat, ’cause you’d come when you got ready. And 
so we had our supper.” The man drew two or three 
whiffs at his pipe, and then asked: 

“ Get ketched in the stiower, did ye?” 

“ Yes — but I was under a rock through the worst of it, 
and didn’t get very wet,” Philip explained. 

There was a brief interval of silence. Philip Temple 
was haunted by the mysterious occurrence which he had 
so fruitlessly tried to investigate. “ I’d like to ask you a 
question, Mr. Webb,” he abruptly declared. 

The young farmer looked curiously at the speaker from 
under his brows, again hokling his pipe betwixt his fin- 
gers. 

“What about?” he questioned. 

“Another singular adventure which I had to-night. I 
came from the summer hotel about a mile from here. 
There’s a path all the way and there are plenty of rocks 
and bushes.” 

“ I’ve been over the path times enough to know all 
’bout it,” Webb interpolated as the other paused. 

Philip went on to detail his adventure. The young 


22 


TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 

farmer listened without comment, puffing vigorously at 
his pipe the while. 

“ What do you think of it?” Temple asked, curiously 
impressed by the other’s silence. 

“Just what I expected — I’ve seen it myself! ” returned 
Webb, shrugging his broad sholders. His tone was a 
tritie awed, and he went on smoking, as though to dispel 
the haunting meinor T of a weird experience. 


CHAPTER IY. 

TELL ME ! SITE CRIED. 

“More strange than true. I never may believe 
These antic fables nor these fairy toys.” 

Midsummer Night' 8 Dream . 

Philip Temple was not deceived in the impression 
that Mrs. Boynton lingered upon the hotel veranda after 
he had gone. 

She leaned upon the railing and watched him out of 
sight. Hor did she go in when lie had disappeared, al- 
though the air had grown decidedly chilly, and she wore 
no wrap. 

Her reflections became retrospective, and she thought 
of Philip Temple as she had known him five years before. 
He had changed but little. She remembered that at the 
time of her rejection of his suit he had accepted her 
decision as conditional only 

“ I think I have spoken too hastily,” he had said, in a 
kindly way which had done more to increase her regard 
for him than all his attentions before. 

“ Unless your love is bestowed elsewhere,” he went on, 
“it is not necessary that a final answer be given now. 
There is time enough, and I can wait. We will continue 
as friends; and if it ever comes to pass that your life 
seems incomplete unlinked with mine, then your present 
answer will be the same as unspoken. I have your hap. 


23 


TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 

piness at heart, Tracy, even more than my own, although 
to give you up wholly would be the deepest disappoint- 
ment I can ever know! 1 ’ 

Those were Philip Temple’s words, and they made a 
strong impression on Tracy Sherman’s mind. In a vague 
sort of way she had looked forward to a time when, in 
his words, “her life would seem incomplete unlinked 
with his.” But soon after they were separated; and em 
bryo love is too often killed by the frosts of separation. 
During the next two years a fatality, or chance, kept 
them apart. Tracy went abroad with her parents ; and 
as travelers meet in foreign lands, she met Chester Boyn- 
ton. They became companions, friends, were engaged, 
and were married before returning to American shores. 

Leaning over the rail of the hotel veranda, with the in- 
fluence of Philip Temple’s presence fresh upon her, Mrs. 
Boynton was impressed for the first time with a convic- 
tion that her marriage without a formal renunciation of 
Philip’s regards had not been quite fair toward him. It 
almost seemed as though she owed him a plea for pardon 
even now — and yet, she realized the impropriety of offer- 
ing one. Even an allusion to their former relations were 
wrong — perilous. 

She looked out upon the patches of light and shadow 
with a sudden sense of possible danger. Of what had 
she been thinking? Plad she unconsciously compared 
the mental characteristics of her husband with those of 
Philip Temple? And had the former suffered by the 
comparison ? 

A step sounded upon the veranda, and Mrs. Boynton 
started, uttered a low cry. She saw a tall figure advanc- 
ing toward her, and she trembled as with sudden fright. 

“ You will take cold here, Tracy. Go in at once,” said 
Chester Boynton as he confronted her. Ilis tone was 
stern, his command almost arbitrary. 

At the same time, as she looked up into his face, she 
was struck by its expression. She had never seen him 
look like that before. He was pale; his lips were drawn; 


24 


TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 


a new liglit blazed in his eyes. She could perceive all 
this even in the semi-gloom, and she was impressed with 
nameless apprehension. 

“What has happened, Chester?” she breathlessly 
exclaimed, laying a hand upon his arm. 

“Nothing — why do you ask? ” he returned. 

In his effort to suppress the evidence of his agitation 
his voice sounded husky. The vague alarm of his wife 
was intensified. 

“ Tell me! ” she cried. And then, as though the utter- 
ance of the name was repulsive to her, she added: 

“When did you come back? And where is — is 
Brock?” 

“He returned before sunset; I have but just come,” 
was the hasty reply. 

“ Have you been to supper?” he added, impatiently. 

“ Why don’t you tell me? and has Mr. Temple gone?” 

“He went a few minutes ago. We waited for you, 
Chester. I began to be alarmed at your absence,” she 
explained. 

“You need never have fears for me because 1 am out 
of your sight for an hour or two. I suppose you were 
afraid Mr. Brock had eaten me alive. I tell you, Tracy, 
you would not dispise that man if you knew him. He 
is a wonderful man. He has been the victim of great 
misfortunes; yet, in spite of his cold exterior, he has a 
warm heart.” 

The young wife cast a hasty glance out among the 
shadows ; a shiver convulsed her form. 

“ I dare say yours is a true estimate of him, Chester,” 
she said. “Yet to me his face, his motions, his voice, 
every word he utters is strongly, painfully repellant. He 
seems to me like a serpent. And I fear that you will 
fall under the spell of his fatal fascinations ! ” 

“ Nonsense, Tracy! ” 

The impatience of Mr. Boynton’s tone amounted 
almost to anger. 

“ You must not yield to such silly fancies,” he com 


TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 2J> 

tinned. 6C You do him injustice; you doubt my judg- 
ment ; you indulge a romantic folly. Ours is real life, 
not romance. We shall be happy and unhappy, like 
other people. But it is not in the power of any ‘ human 
serpent ’ to cast an evil spell upon us. These are not the 
days or witchcraft, and you must not allow such ideas to 
gain possession of your mind. It isn’t sensible. They 
will do you harm.” 

Boynton, while speaking, had led her into the house. 
Under the gaslight the appearance of his agitation was 
not so marked — else it had subsided. They ate supper 
together in silence. Then he went to regale himself with 
a cigar, leaving Tracy with the other ladies u pon the 
front veranda. Here all was life and brightness. The 
flickering lights, the hum of voices, in a measure dis- 
pelled the sense of depression which had possessed the 
mind of Mrs. Boynton. From within floated the notes 
of a lively air which someone was evoking from the rich- 
toned piano. 

Tracy, standing a little apart, felt two soft, warm 
hands upon her cheeks, and a silvery, half -childish voice 
sounded in her ears. 

“ I’ve found you now, and I’ll keep you, too,” said the 
voice. 

“ You shall keep me until bedtime, Lou — I’ll promise 
not to run away from you,” Tracy returned, a ring of 
unfeigned pleasure in her tones. 

And she impulsively kissed the pretty, dimpled cheeks 
so near her own. 

For Lou Wentworth, with her blue, laughing eyes, 
her innocent, vivacious ways, was the only guest at the 
hotel for whose exclusive companionship the young wife 
of Chester Boynton really cared. 

The emanations of joyousness which seemed ever to 
surround this petite being was to Tracy a sort of anti- 
dote for the noisome, chilling presence of Mr. Brock. 

“ I was afraid that handsome stranger had carried you 


26 TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 

away from us,” exclaimed the girl, linking her arm with- 
in that of her companion. 

“ So yon were watching us, you sly rogue ? ” Mrs. 
Boynton questioned. She began to experience a strange 
elation of spirits, in marked contrast with the recent 
vague forebodings which she had entertained. 

“ I watched him — not you,” Miss Wentworth replied, 
as they paused in their walk at a point remote from the 
other guests. 

“ He is a handsome fellow, isn’t he ? Almost as princely 
looking as my — as Roy Blanchard ! ” 

Even the shadow in which they were standing did not 
hide the deepening pink upon the shy face of the speaker. 

“ Your Roy, Lou? Has he really ” 

Lou’s soft hand stopped Tracy’s utterances just there. 

“ Hot yet — it isn’t sure! ” the girl returned, in a quick, 
breathless w'ay. Her bright face had taken on a serious, 
even anxious expression, and she looked straight into the 
eyes of her companion, as she went on: 

“ We were together a long while to-day, and he was as 
kind as — as I could wish. But we’re not engaged. He 
has said nothing about that; nothing direct and plain, I 
mean. And to-night he is with Alma Buston, I think. 
So I feel sure and happy one moment, and in doubt and 
misery the next ! ” The girl’s soft tones faltered ; tears 
dimmed the azure of her eyes. 

“ My darling! it is cruel for you to be in such painful 
doubt,” Mrs. Boynton returned, tenderly kissing the face 
which but a moment before was dimpled with smiles. 

“ If there was only some way to find out so, that all 
your doubts might be dispelled,” Tracy went on, her wo- 
man’s heart full of sympaty for the gentle, loving being 
by her side. 

“ If I only could,” Lou echoed. “ If you were only a 
sorceress, and could read my destiny in a tea-cup, or in 
the lines of my hand. Do you really believe there is 
anything in fortune-telling, Mrs. Boynton? Do you be- 


TELL ME ! SHE CRIED. 27 

lieve all the stories of divination coming true, which we 
hear, are false? Aren’t they ever true?” 

The blue eyes were opened wide with earnestness as 
she eagerly asked these questions, upon which many a 
maiden in love ponders in vain. 

“ They may come true sometimes — by chance,” was the 
slow response. 

“ I suppose it is all very silly. And yet I would like 
to try just one thing, just for sport. No one but you is 
to know of it. And no harm will be done — only a little 
fun. Will you?” 

The childish eagerness of the girl caused Mrs. Boynton 
to laugh softly. 

“ What do you wish me to do ? Turn astrologer and 
read your horoscope? ” she asked. 

“ No — something easier than that. That has to be done 
at the moment of one’s birth, I believe, so it is too late to 
foretell my history in that way.” 

She spoke with unrelaxed seriousness. There was an 
interval of silence, in which the twain gazed forth upon 
the moonlit landscape, with the lengthening shadows 
creeping up the valley. 

“ There is a magic spring yonder, just beyond that big 
rock which looks like a crouching elephant,” Lou de- 
clared, lowering her voice to a whisper, and indicating the 
spot with one outstretched hand. 

“ I have heard it spoken of,” replied her companion, 
adding with a smile: 

“ And you wish to go thither and try your fate by 
bending over the spring to drink, in the hope of seeing 
the face of Boy Blanchard mirrored there, as though he 
were looking over your shoulder! you silly, loving child!” 

“ What will be the harm ? There is no danger, it is so 
near the house. And beside, you will be near me, only 
you must stand upon this side of the rock. Of course I 
shall see nothing only my own face, and that will look so 
foolish that 1 shall never wish to try my fate in that way 


TELL ME! SHE CRIED. 


28 

again. Will you go with me? now, before the moon goes 
down?” 

“ Yes, I’ll humor you. It is a simpler spell than that 
which was required to conjure the White Lady of Avenel 
before the vision of Halbert Glendinning, in Scott’s novel 
of ‘The Monestery.’ Come, before we are observed.” 

They descended the steps nearest them, and hastened 
toward the rock which Lou had designated. 

The distance was so short that, when they stood beside 
the huge rock, they could hear the voices and piano at the 
hotel. 

Yet Lou clung to the hand of her companion, pale and 
trembling. 

“ I’m afraid to try it, now,” she exclaimed, in a whis- 
per. 

“ I expected you would be,” Tracy returned. Although 
naturally romantic and imaginative herself, Mrs. Boynton 
was not prone to indulge groundless fears. 

“ I wish you would try first, Mrs. Boynton,” said her 
companion. 

“I? You forget that I have a husband already.” 

“That doesn’t matter — it’s only a foolish trick, you 
know, and it would be nice if you should see the face of 
Mr. Boynton mirrored in the spring. Do try, and then 
I won’t be afraid. I will stand here, where I can almost 
see you.” 

Tracy hesitated only in her reluctance to indulge in 
such folly. At twenty-four, and with a husband, it all 
seemed very ridiculous. Yet she could not resist the 
earnest, childish pleading of her young friend. 

“ I will drink from the spring — to please you. But if 
Chester were really there to look over my shoulder he 
would scold me roundly. He despises such folly.” 

She unclasped the clinging lingers of Lou, and went 
boldly around the rock. 

The girl stood, breathless, half-expectant. The experi- 
ment seemed fraught with fateful significance to her 
impressionable nature. 


THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT. 


29 


Half-credulous though she was, however, she was 
thrilled with fear when Tracy Boynton darted around the 
rock with a low, horrified cry, and sank at her feet in a 
swoon ! 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT. 

“ ’Tis night when meditation bids ns feel 
We once have loved, though love is at an end.” 

— Child e Harold. 

“You’ve seen the light, as I’ve described, did you 
say ? ” Philip Temple asked, as the young farmer smoked 
on in silence. 

“Yes. Two or three times. Tother night was the 
last.” 

Jason Webb proceeded to knock the ashes from his 
pipe, and then thrust the latter into the pocket of his 
blouse. 

He then slowly faced his guest, and Temple perceived 
that his countehance wore a look of irritation. 

“ I hate a mystery worse’ll pizen ! ” he exclaimed, with 
a vehement shake of the head. 

“ So you count that light which I saw to-night as a 
mystery, do you \ ” Temple questioned, his interest grow- 
ing keen. 

“ Course it is. Anything that nobody can explain is 
mysterious, isn’t it ? And what’s mysterious is a mys- 
tery, according to my reckoning. You tried to solve it 
it to-night, didn’t you ? ” 

“ I made a slight effort, yes. But being unaccustomed 
to the lay of the land I found I was in danger of breaking 
my neck, and so gave it up. I dare say I would have 
solved the puzzle if I’d persisted.” 

“ Mebbe you would — I won’t say. But you didn’t 
persist quite long enough, same as I didn’t, and same as 
more’n a dozen smart chaps hasn’t. Some of ’em smart 
as you or I, Mr. Temple.” 


30 


THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT. 


"Webb’s good-natured laugh took the possible sting 
from his sarcasm. It was plain that he was a clear- 
headed fellow with plenty of practical common-sense. 
Nor was he likely to become frightened at his own 
shadow. 

“ So I’ve struck upon one of the numerous ghost-epi- 
sodes which are floating about in all rural districts,” said 
Temple, half-musingly. 

“ Call it what you’re mind ter, it’s curi’s, and has puz- 
zled a good many people.” 

“ When was the phenomenon first noticed ? ” Philip 
asked. 

“ Most two years ago. Jenney, my wife, seen it first, 
as she was cornin’ home from Jim Pice’s one dark evenin’. 
Jim lives a mile or so below here and there’s a path 
branches off’n this one leading straignt there. Jenny 
seen the light, and s’posed ’twas me come to meet her 
with a lantern. She spoke my name, and not getting 
any answer, took a notion to investigate. She’s a spunky 
woman, if I do say it, and not scare’t at her own shadow. 
But when the light vanished and then appeared ag’in, 
as you seen it to-night, she run home lively.” 

“ And did you go back to solve the mystery that 
night ? ” Philip pursued, strangely interested in the 
simple, yet vivid narrative of Jason Webb. 

“ No. I thought like ’nough somebody ‘ did it fora 
trick to frighten her. 

“ And who saw the mysterious light next ? ” 

u Jim Rice — and he stands to it that somebody smashed 
his lantern for him when he tried to investigate. But I 
guess he got scare’t and broke it agin’ a tree. Anyhow, 
the lantern was broke to hinders, for I see it the next 
morning.” 

“ And were you the next one to encounter the puzzle?” 

“ Yes. But I didn’t have no lantern, and you know 
it’s a pokerish place to get ’round in in the dark. I was 
served ’bout the same way as you was to-night. 


THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT- 


31 


“ I suppose you have examined the soot in the day 
time?” 

“ Two or three times.” 

“ And with what result?” 

“ Didn’t find anything. Always so, you know, the 
same as ’tis when you explore a haunted house in day 
time. Nothing ever happens that isn’t natural as can be 
by daylight, and the very devil will be to pay after sun- 
down. I’ve poked into such things considerable at one 
time and another. Good many folks get scare’t at what 
could be explained easy enough if they kept cool. Still 
things do happen that nobody finds out what causes ’em, 
though nobody ever believes it till they’ve seen the mani- 
festations themselves.” 

“ I suppose you have seen enough to convince you that 
there are really ghosts and haunted houses?” 

Jason Webb laughed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“No, I don’t believe in ’em,” he declared, decisively. 

“And yet,” he added, “ I know that there’s things that 
I can’t see through, and that you can’t, and that nobody 
can till they try science on the surface of things, and stop 
digging so deep after mysteries. People dig half through 
the earth to find what lays right under the surface, so to 
speak. It’s always been the way. If I knew as much 
about science as you educated fellows do, I would go up 
and solve that mystery within twenty -four hours.” 

It was Philip’s turn to laugh — and yet he perceived 
the germs of good sense in the young farmer’s homely 
remark. 

“ I see you are determined to lay the task of solving this 
weird mystery upon my shoulders, and when I fail, as I 
probably shall, you’ll laugh at me,” said Philip. 

“ I guess you won’t fail if you really try. But you 
wont’ try. You had rather laugh at the whole affair; 
call it a freak of your imagination or something of that 
sort,” Webb seriously returned. 

“ It was not my imagination, I’m sure of that.” Tem- 
ple said this decisively, knitting his brows. 


82 


THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT. 


Webb made no response, and the guest fell into a 
revery. The moon had disappeared beyond the trees, 
and only the column of light shining forth from the 
open doorway of the cottage relieved the darkness 
outside. Even this was presently darkened by a shadow 
human in contour. Turning, Temple saw that Jenny, 
the pretty, wife of the young farmer, had come out upon 
the step. 

“ I knew you had come, Mr. Temple,” she said, in a 
voice which was remarkably sweet and mellow. “ I 
heard you talking with Jason, and have improved the 
time to make seme fresh toast for you. Please don’t let 
it get cold.” 

“You’re very kind — more so than I deserve, Mrs. 
Webb.” 

The unaffected friendliness of this couple strongly 
impressed the young man, who was accustomed to the 
inhospitableness of city boarding places. And he went 
in and did justice to the young housewife’s cookery, 
although it had not occurred to him before that he was 
hungry. A little later he retired' to his room, which was 
the neatest and most airy the cottage contained. Seating 
himself by an open window, he lit a cigar, and sent blue 
rings of fragrant smoke floating upward to the ceiling. 

He looked out of the window. upon the somber land- 
scape. He wondered if the summer hotel, where the 
Boyntons were stopping, was located in the hollow 
beyond the tall, blasted pine which he could see outlined 
against the gray sky. He pictured to himself the face 
and form of Tracy Boynton as she had appeared leaning 
over the railing, as he had left her. He recalled the 
touch of her hand, the half-eager tone of voice as she 
had said, “It is n’t good by?” as he was about to go. 

“ Can she have forgotten what I said to her five years 
ago?” he asked himself. The question brought back the 
old pain, which had harassed him so long and hopelessly 
in the months and years which were past. 

“ She cannot have forgotten,” he went on, uttering the 


THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT. 


33 


words half -aloud, and bending toward tho window until 
the cool, damp air swept his brow. “ Women never for- 
get such things, I believe. I had thought that she would 
yet alter her decision in the course of time. I even fancied 
that the transformation had begun before we parted, and 
— I believe so yet, and it was by a perverse freak of 
fate that we were separated. Why w r as it so? Was it 
better for her? — or for me? What does she think of it 
now? I dare not think of it — I must not! She has 
made her choice, and no doubt it is a good one — for him !” 

Philip Temple flung away his cigar and walked im- 
petuously across the room. 

lieturning he paused before the window, his lips com- 
pressed, his face startlingly pale. 

But the sudden burst of passion, the sweep of painful 
memories, of unanswered hopes, quickly passed. 

“This will not do,” he exclaimed, resolutely. His 
manner grew calm under control, and he added, with a 
smile: “The ordeal of a flrst meeting after our long sep- 
aration, and the intervening changes, could not have 
failed to be a painful one to me, and embarrassing to 
her. The renewal of our friendships under the new con- 
ditions will do more than aught else to cure me of what 
is now but folly. She shall realize now, if never before, 
that I possess manhood and the power of self-control. 
If it were otherwise I should lose her respect. I have a 
right to her friendly regard, and I will retain it, for it is 
too sweet a possession to forfeit!” 

Philip smoked another cigar, scanned the newspaper 
which he found upon his table awaiting perusal, and 
then went to bed. 

He did not lie awake; he was too physically weary for 
that. But his dreams abounded in vagaries. He pur- 
f ued illusive lights, falling over rocks and finding him- 
self again and again upon the brink of dark abysses. 
Once he found himself bending over a spring of water 
and saw the face of Tracy Boynton reflected in its limpid 
depths. In a thrill of ecstacy he bent to kiss the mir- 


34 


ARE YOU ILL, TRACY 5 


rored face ; but the contact of his own with the coo] 
water awakened him with a start. His face was really 
cold and wet. It was raining outside, and a strong wind 
sent the drops in through the open window upon the bed, 
and his upturned face. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ARE YOU ILL, TRACY ? 


“Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, 

These hours, and only these, redeem life’s years of ill.' 


s of ill.” 

—Childe Harold. 


Lou Wentworth, in an agony of terror and distress, 
bent over the unconscious figure of her companion. At 
the same time she heard a footstep, and turning with 
added fear, saw Chester Boynton coming toward them. 

“ What is the meaning of this? What has happened?” 
he demanded sternly, bending over his wife. It might 
have been his voice, or the dash of cool drops from the 
overhanging foliage which was swayed by a passing 
breeze, that recalled her to consciousness, for her eyes 
opened at the instant, and she looked shrinkingly up into 
his face. 

With his help she rose to a sitting posture, and leaned 
against him as he crouched at her side. 

“Are you ill, Tracy? Or frightened?” he questioned, 
more gently than before. 

“ Both, I think,” she answered with a shiver. She 
sent an appealing glance toward Lou as she spoke — a 
glance that said plainly: “I will explain to him; you 
need not.” 

Aloud she added : 

“ I did not quite swoon. But I was too weak and 
faint to stand, or speak. I never felt like that before.” 

Lou turned reluctantly away, her own heart still hut- 
tern vith excitement. 



“ What — or whom — did she see at the Magic Spring?” 
the girl asked herself as she hurried through the wet 


ARE YOU ILL, TRACY? 


35 


grass toward the house. In her preoccupation she did 
not see the person coming toward her. They did not 
see each other, in fact, until there was a mild collision. 

“ Oh ! 99 she screamed, starting back. Then she recog- 
nized the smiling, handsome face of Roy Blanchard, and 
her terror was changed into shy delight. 

“ Why don’t you run away, as you started to do? ” he 
questioned, with an assumption of gravity. 

“.I will, if you wish it! ” and she turned to flee. But 
he caught her in a firm, yet gentle grasp. 

u Please don’t, unless you wish,” he implored. He 
drew her hand within his arm, and led her past the house, 
and out upon the zigzag road. “ I have been looking for 
you,” he went on, his tones falling like richest melody 
upon her ears. 

“ Looking for me — for how long? ” she asked. 

“All the evening; but you have managed to keep out 
of my sight until this moment, and you would have run 
away from me now.” 

She sent a quick resentful glance up into his face. 

“ Is it rude to dispute such a remark as yours ? ” she 
flashed back. 

“ Yes, very rude, for it is the truth,” he returned in an 
earnest tone. Was it real? She could not see his face 
distinctly enough to be certain whether he were smiling 
or grave. 

“ It requiredtwo of you to search for me,” she said, her 
voice very low, to hide its unsteadiness perhaps. 

“ Yes, Alma Burton kindly volunteered to aid me in 
my quest. She fancied that you and Mrs. Boynton had 
strayed away together. Do you know, I sometimes fancy 
that you prefer the society of that lady to mine? ” 

Lou Wentworth perceived that he was indulging his 
old penchant for tantilizing, and was quickly on her 
guard. 

“ For once your fancy impressed you aright,” she de- 
murely said. 


36 


ARE YOU ILL, TRACY? 


“Really, Lou? ” There was more earnestness in his 
tones then than he had before evinced. 

“We are both serious, aren’t we? I certainly thought 
we were,” she returned. 

They walked on in silence, and presently came to the 
bridge in the hollow over the deep, narrow stream, which 
swept silently through the valley. They paused here, 
and leaned over the rail to look at the black, eddying cur- 
rent. Its stealthy murmur as it fretted the shelving 
banks came up to them out of the silence and gloom. 

“ What a romantic place for committing suicide,” Roy 
gravely observed. 

“ It would be a good place for you to try it. I know of 
no better — it is especially suited to the sort of frenzy 
which would actuate the attempt in one of your temper- 
ament.” 

He looked at her keenly, but it was too dark to see 
more than the soft outlines of her face. The white wrap 
which she wore was pinned close at her throat. 

“Why is this so especially suited for me? ” he asked, 
with more eagerness than the lightness of the badinage 
seemed to warrant. 

“Because the current is so strong at this point that you 
could not sink; and a few yards below the stream widens, 
and is scarce a foot in depth, it is said. So you wouldn’t 
drown, and the coldness of the water would subdue your 
frenzy.” 

He laughed musically, admiring her more than ever 
before. Perhaps, until now, he had supposed her to be 
more loving than clever. 

“ I might hang a mill -stone to my neck before jump- 
ing in,” he suggested. 

“ You may do that without intending to drown your- 
self. A great many do,” she returned. 

“It is unfair to make a figurative retort to a literal 
proposal.” 

“ It is as fair as for one to expect a literal answer to a 
figurative proposal — isn’t it? I may be wrong.” 


ARE YOU ILL, TRACY? 


37 

“ Yes, you are wrong. Besides, I have not indulged 
in metaphor. I am in a serious mood to-night ; more se- 
rious than you dream.” 

“ I’m sorry for you, then.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because the opposite is the case with me.” 

“ Then, if I should make a serious, solemn proposal of 
any sort — one affecting your happiness and mine for a 
lifetime, how should you answer me?” Again his tone 
was eager. 

“ I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she replied. 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Because I should make a figurative response.” 

“ If it were an assent 1 should accept it even in that 
guise.” 

“ It would not be an assent.” 

“You are unmerciful!” he exclaimed, with assumed 
bitterness. 

“ 1 show more mercy than you comprehend. I am 
wiser than you concerning the aims of your life, and in 
withholding the consummation of your hopes I should be 
exercising the highest quality of mercy.” 

“ Toward you or me, do you mean? ” 

“ Both.” 

He was silent a moment. lie reached upward and 
plucked a handful of leaves from an overhanging beech 
and cast them upon the swift moving stream. 

“You do not yet know that I entertain hopes which 
you have the power of blighting,” he said at length. 

“ I doubt if you know yourself,” she retorted, a fine 
scorn in her tone. 

“ Don’t say that, Lou!” he cried, this time with an ea- 
gerness which was unfeigned. And he continued with 
an impetuousness which did not permit of interruption: 

“ You think I live upon the surface of everything; that 
no wishes nor aspirations reach my inner nature. Per- 
haps you have reasons for estimating my character thus; 
but I will prove to you that you are wrong. I will cast 


38 


ARE YOU ILL, TRACY? 


my fate upon your hands ; I will show you that I have 
hopes, and you shall have the power and opportunity for 
deciding them now!” 

He paused ; and in that pause she spoke, with an odd 
commingling of lightness and resoluteness. 

“ I told you how I should treat anything of a serious 
character from your lips tonight. I shall make a figura- 
tive response, and it will be a negative at that. So do not 
hazard your fate at such an unauspicious time. It 
might cost you your night’s repose, and it i a well to keep 
your sleep unbroken as long as you may. ‘ Where 
ignorance is bliss , 5 you know . 55 

He was silent again, possibly at a loss how to treat her 
remark. 

“ And if I wait until a more auspicious time? 5 ’ he ques- 
tioned, at length. 

“ Do not attempt to fathom what the future may hold 
in store for you . 55 And after a moment she added: 

“ Go up to the Magic Spring and see what is mirrored 
there — though perhaps you have tried that test already. 
For — ha! you betray guilt . 55 

Hoy Blanchard’s laugh was not quite so light as it 
asually was, and he vouchsafed no reply to the charge. 

It was her turn to be eager. 

“ Own up the truth , 55 she said, in a tone of assumed 
badinage; “you drank from the Magic Spring. Do not 
deny it . 55 

“ I haven’t denied it,” he returned. 

“And you saw a face mirrored there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Besides your own?” her voice low with suppressed 
avidity for his response. 

“ Besides my own,” he declared. 

“ The face of Alma Burton, or — 55 she paused, for him 

to 



“ It doesn’t matter , 55 with assumed indifference. Then, 
to repay him for tantalizing her, she added: 


the wife’s suggestion. 39 n 

“ I should never have thought you capable of such 
folly. It might do for a school-girl, but in you — ! ” 

“To what folly do you refer, Miss Wentworth? ” he 
asked, with assumed ignorance of her meaning. 

“The trying of such a silly test — a fortune-telling 
trick ! ” 

“ I tried no trick — at least, none of the sort to which 
you refer.” 

“But you drank from the magic spring?” 

“Why shouldn’t I, if I was thirsty? It is remarkably 
good water. But I drank at noonday, and the spell is 
said to work only in the night-time. 

“ But you said you saw a face reflected — one beside 
your own ! ” 

“ Which was true. It was the face of a very pretty 
canine, however, which took a fancy to drink when I did. 
Whose dog it was — ” 

She interrupted him by freeing her arm, and running 
briskly up the road toward the house. 

He quickly came up with her, eagerly exclaiming: 

“ Forgive me, Lou! ” 

“ There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, with a reassur- 
ing laugh. But she hurried on, and in a moment they 
came in sight of the hotel. 

At the same time it began to rain; and Lou Went- 
worth again joined the guests; and later retired to sleep, 
and dream of her hopes and doubts. 


CHAPTER VII. 

TIIE WIFE’S SUGGESTION. 

“Lovers, and madmen, have such seething hrains, 

Such shaping fantasies that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends.” 

Midsummer Night's Bream. 

The next day dawned with overcast sky and a cold, 
drizzling rain. 

Cheerful fires were kindled in the halls and public 


401 


THE WIFE’S SUGGESTION- 


rooms of the hotel, and the only consolation for the 
guests, shut in for the day, was in the charm of the glow- 
ing coals and dancing flames, which, however, sent out 
almost too much warmth for perfect comfort. 

Probably the fires fully compensated for the loss of the 
sunshine to only one inmate of the house. Mr. Brock, 
with his black coat buttoned to his chin, occupied him- 
self by going from one fire-place to another, pausing for 
a few moments before each to bathe his white, skinny 
hands in the warmth. . He was freshly shaved, and his 
cheeks and chin shone as though they had been polished. 
This skinniness of the cuticle upon Mr. Brock’s hands as 
well as his face, was a peculiarity which no one could fail 
to notice. 

Mrs. Boynton kept to her apartments until afternoon. 
The morning found her unusually pale, for the night had 
not been a reposeful one to her. Her husband was irri- 
tated by the prospect of a dull day, for he, with several 
others, had arranged for a fishing excursion. 

“ We might spend this day together, Chester,” his wife 
suggested. She stood at her mirror, adjusting the lace 
at her white throat. To say that Tracy Boynton was 
pretty is not doing her justice. Her loveliness was of a 
rare, classical type, such as an artist would choose for an 
ideal portrait. It is hard to describe such beauty as hers ; 
it must be seen to be admired, and it is seldom seen. 

“ So we might,” he replied, with a faint smile. After 
a moment he added : 

“ But I think it would be rather better taste to mingle 
with the other guusts. We don’t wish them to think 
us — ” he paused, and she quickly asked: 

“ Think us — what?” 

“ Spooney — like a pair of turtle-doves.” 

She made no response, but a dash of pink came into 
her cheeks and there remained, as though she had ap- 
plied rouge . He did not see it, however, because he did 
not look at her. 


THE WIFE’S SUGGESTION. 


41 


“ Don’t you think so? ” lie asked, after a rather pro- 
tracted interval of silence. 

“ Oh, yes, of course. It would look better for me to 
stay with Lou Wentworth, or Miss Burton, while you 
might sit by Mr. Brock and help him to keep warm. I 
don’t see how he will survive the day unless he can sun 
himself upon a rock.” 

The scorn in her tones was so fine that it was almost 
lost upon the hearer. He took it as a sort of pleasantry; 
he did not dream that her words were intended to convey 
keen reproach. 

“ I hadn’t thought of Brock to-day — I haven’t seen 
him, in fact,” Chester remarked in a careless tone. 

“ I’m afraid,” he continued, u that the poor fellow has 
frozen — that liis blood is congealed in his veins. I must 
look him up. But for me he would have a dull time of 
it here, I declare.” 

Mr. Boynton rose, yawned, went to the mirror and 
adjusted liis tie, and then went from the room. At the 
door he paused and looked back. Tracy had seated her- 
self by a window, and was reading — or seeming to do so. 

“ Shall I send Miss Wentworth up to see you V’ Chester 
asked. 

« Mo.” 

“ Perhaps Mr. Temple will come over by and by.” 

“ I hope so. I truly hope he will.” 

She threw more eagerness into her tones as she said 
this than she really felt. But this, too, was lost upon her 
husband, who had turned away to greet some one passing 
along the corridor. The next moment he was descending 
the stairs. 

It was not until then that Tracy covered her face and 
gave way to a paroxysm of emotion. 

For an hour she sat thus ; but her fit of weeping was of 
only a few moments duration. Iler thoughts reverted 
to the occurrences of the previous evening — it was the 
first time she had had for thinking them alone. Her in- 
dulgence of Lou Wentworth’s whim at the Magic Springs, 


42 


THE WIFEo SUGGESTION. 


and its strange consequences, had been only partially dis- 
solved to her husband. 

She had refrained from telling him all, not from a wish 
to deceive him, but because she shrank with the keen ridi- 
cule which she was sure it would receive at his hands. 

She told him only that Lou had requested her to go 
thither, and that she had complied. That she was ner- 
vous at the time, and a foolish cause frightened her. He 
was satisfied with her explanation; he would doubless 
have been satisfied if she had given him less. 

“ You and Miss Wentworth nave been probably indulg- 
ing in romantic absurdities, like a couple of school girls,” 
he had said, in mild reproach. 

“ It was so strange — so strange ! ” the young wife kept 
repeating to herself now, as she recalled the event. 

“ Could it have been an hallucination ? A freak of my 
own imagination, wrought upon by the time and place? 
What would Lou say, if she knew? and Philip? Chester 
would only laugh at me, or declare that I had drank too 
strong tea of late. And yet how plain it was — I can see 
it now, so vivid is the impression upon my mind.” 

Tracy rose at length and bathed her face in cool water. 
Then she went down. The first face she saw was Lon 
Wentworth’s, and in a moment they were together, 
ensconced cosily in a deep window by themselves. 

“Tell me about it, won’t you?” Lou eagerly questioned. 
For I know you saw something. You wouldn’t have 
swooned at nothing.” 

“It was very dark by the spring,” Tracy replied, 
speaking slowly, undecided whether to make a confidante 
of her friend. 

“And you were afraid? But something must have 
frightened you! — something weird and dreadful ! ” 

Lou crossed her white arms upon her bosom in an 
unstudied, yet tragic attitude, and the big blue eyes, and 
red, parted lips all expressed a degree of expectancy 
which it would be cruel to disappoint. 

“ It was nothing very dreadful, if I saw anything,” 


THE WIFE’S SUGGESTION. 


43 


Mrs. Boynton replied. Yet rifts of white crossed her 
cheeks as she spoke. 

“Yon were terribly startled, I’m sure. And you 
nearly frightened me out of my wits. If Mr. Boynton 
hadn’t appeared just then I believe 1 should have 
swooned, too.” 

“My poor child.” Tracy gently stroked the soft 
cheek so near her own. 

“ Perhaps it was he who frightened you — Mr. Boynton, 
I mean,” Lou exclaimed. 

“No, it was not my husband. It was no one. Yet I 
thought I saw a face! ” 

The confession was uttered scarce above a whisper. 

“In the spring?” the girl breathlessly asked, impul- 
sively catching the speaker’s hands between both her own. 

“Yes, mirrored beside my own. It was only a 
glimpse, of course, for I screamed and started back upon 
the instant. Yet it w^as distinct — yes, very distinct! ” 

Mrs. Boynton shuddered at the recollection, even 
though it was broad daylight then, and the murmur of 
voices filled the room. 

Lou did not question her further just then. They sat 
for some time in silence, watching the dreary, dripping 
rain outside. Then the girl told of her brief stroll with 
Eoy Blanchard, and all that passed between them. 
Then, somewhat later, she abruptly said: 

“ One thing you did not tell me, Tracy.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ Whose face you saw reflected in the magic spring.” 

“ It was only an illusion.” 

“ But it resembled some one, of course.” 

“ Yes, it did — the face of one who was once a dear 
friend — almost a brother.” Mrs. Boynton paused, and 
then added: “Don’t ask me his name, dear. And we 
won’t think any more about it.” 

“ What if I had gone to the spring, as I intended ; do 
you suppose I should have seen anything?” Lou eagerly 
asked. 


44 


THE WIFE’S SUGGESTION. 


“ Of course not, unless you had been foolish and fanci- 
ful, as I was.” 

“ Then I should n’t dare to go, for I am foolish, and I 
imagine all sorts of absurd things. I shouldn’t dave to 
go there now, even at noonday!” 

The curtains which half shut the window recess from 
the room were drawn back at this moment, somewhat 
hesitatingly, and a frank, handsome face which Lou had 
seen hut once before looked in. 

“Philip — in spite of the rain!” Mrs. Boynton ex- 
claimed, rising to greet him, for the intruder was indeed 
Mr. Temple, who evinced a shade of embarrassment upon 
seeing that she was not alone. 

Lou rose to go; but Mrs. Boynton detained her. 

“ You two will be the best of friends in half an hour,” 
Tracy declared, when she had presented Philip, and he 
had accepted a seat tete-a-tete with both. 

“ I am sure we shall,” Lou coincided, convinced that 
Mr. Temple strongly resembled Boy Blanchard. As she 
covertly watched his face, however, she could not decide 
for the life of her in what the resemblance consisted. 
Perhaps it was because they were both gentlemen, and 
about equally prepossessing. 

Lou was keenly observant, and when Philip had first 
looked in upon them she noticed that her companion 
started and paled slightly. 

“ I wonder if it wasn’t his face that she saw reflected 
in the spring?” she mentally asked herself. 

“ Did you expect a little rain could keep me all day 
in that dull place, with brightness so near?” Temple 
exclaimed. 

“No, I expected you,” Tracy admitted. The color 
had returned to her cheeks, the brilliance to her eyes. 
Even Lou noticed that Mrs. Boynton’s dreamy loveliness 
was enhanced by a new, indescribable charm. 

“ By the way, I met your husband just outside as I 
came,” Philip went on. “ He was laden with fishing- 
tackle, and with two or three others was starting off to 


THE WIFE’S SUGGESTION. 


45 


a brook which is fabled to contain trout. I don’t know 
where the brook is, and I’m skeptical about the trout. 
There may be eels, and possibly minnows. He told me 
to come in and hunt you up. As he didn’t ask me to go 
with him I suppose he did not care for my companion- 
ship. Possibly he feared that I were a better angler than 
he, or that I would bribe the trout.” 

Lou laughed at his bright humor ; and Tracy smiled, 
though she frowned at first. 

“So he has gone, after all!” she exclaimed, half in- 
voluntarily. 

“Then you didn’t know?” in some surprise, and 
with a penetrating glance. 

“ He spoke of going, but thought it rained too much,” 
she quickly explained, and his suspicion that there had 
been disagreement between them was set aside. And she 
added : 

“ I’m glad he did not invite you to join them, for I 
fear you would have been tempted to go beyond your 
power to withstand.” 

“ Perhaps I should; human nature is weak. And 
that reminds me that I met with a rather curious adven- 
ture last night, as I was returning to the cottage from 
here.” 

A rift of pallor crossed Tracy Boynton’s face, and she 
turned hastily toward the window to hide it. But Lou 
Wentworth noted her agitation, and bent eagerly for- 
ward, curious to hear what Mr. Temple had to relate. 

At the same moment someone in the next room sud- 
denly struck a low, sweet prelude upon the great piano. 
The music rose and throbbed upon the air with a melody 
as strange, and weird as that of an seolian harp. 


46 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

A DREAM OF MUSIC. 

“ If he, compact of the j&rs, grow musical, 

We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.” 

—As You Like It. 

Mr. Temple told the story of his adventure with the 
illusive light, appending the statements of Mr. and Mrs. 
"Webb. His listeners did not once interrupt him. 

Miss Wentworth fairly trembled with intense interest 
in the romantic tale. Tracy gazed out upon the dreary 
landscape until he had finished; and all the while the 
music rose and fell with plaintive sweetness in the ad- 
joining room. 

“ I shall be afraid to stay near this mountain if it is 
infested with such serie apparitions and secrets,” Lou 
exclaimed, when he had finished. 

“ We will form a committee of investigation one of 
these days, and unearth the trickster who would victim- 
ize us,” Temple returned, with assumed lightness. 

“Who knows but we may discover a bevy of witches, 
chanting over their cauldron and cooking a charm, up 
among the rocks,” Tracy suggested, facing her com- 
panions. 

“ Perhaps it was thence that the thunder was conjured 
yesterday, when 1 found you crouching upon the moun- 
tain-side,” Philip laughed. 

Lou clapped her hands to her ears, quickly crying: 

“ You’ll drive me mad with your uncanny suggestions 
if you keep on. I feel as though I had just awakened 
from a nightmare already.” 

They all laughed to banish the spell. 

“That music affects me more than Mr. Temple’s 
story,” Mrs. Boynton declared, with a shrug of her grace- 
ful shoulders. “ Whom can it be playing, Lou? ” 

“One whose fingers evoke the strangest melody to 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


47 


which I ever listened,” Philip said, listening. “ I shall 
dream of that music,” he added, a moment later. 

“ I will know whom the magician is,” Lou exclaimed, 
darting away from them like a fairy. When she had 
gone, Mr. Temple bent his face a little nearer his com- 
panion. 

“ i had a dream last night which has haunted me ever 
since,” he said, unconsciously using a lower tone. 

“A dream of music?” she questioned. 

“ No, though it was rather weird. Stimulated, prob- 
ably, by my odd experience in the evening. My unex- 
pected meeting with you had something to do with it, 
also.” 

“Aren’t you going to tell us what it was? You have 
stirred up my curiosity, and now you have no right to 
disappoint it.” 

“ I didn’t intend to tell you.” A faint blush mantled 
his cheeks, which from the first she had noticed were 
rather pale. 

“ It is hardly suitable for me to repeat, under the cir- 
cumstances,” he added. 

“ You should not even dream of unsuitable things,” 
Mrs. Boynton declared. 

“ I suppose not. Nor of ridiculous ones, either, 
presume? ” 

“ Then your dream was ridiculous ? And it has 
haunted you ever since! And you think it was partly 
stimulated by meeting me, as though that were ridicu- 
lous.” 

Her badinage reminded him of the old days before 
their separation so strongly as to give him pain. 

“ Y ou used to talk in that w r ay when — But you re- 
member,” he exclaimed. This was the first time he had 
made allusion to former times; an irresistible impulse 
impelled the remark. 

“And you didn’t enjoy it very well, if I remember 
rightly,” she returned, in the same light tone. 

She was intently examining the petals of a tea-rose as 


48 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


she spoke. The flower was withered and odorless — one 
which someone had tossed upon the window-seat the 
evening before. 

“ I preferred a more serious strain in those days — with 
you at least,” Philip declared. 

Now that they were upon the subject, both found it 
irrestibly fascinating. Each was curious to hear what 
the other had to say. 

“ It all doubtless seems very foolish, as you think of it 
now?” she went on, without raising her eyes to his face. 

The music at this moment rose in fuller volume, and 
she was obliged to lean toward him to hear his reply. 

“No, it does not,” he replied, very gravely. u 1 was 
at the years of discretion even then, you will bear in 
mind,” he added, the emphasis very light yet plain upon 
the personal pronoun. 

“ So you were, now I think of it ! ” She glanced up at 
him and smiled as she said this. 

He smiled also, although the attempt was little better 
than a ghastly grimace. 

“ You were fortunate in escaping my serious designs, 
considering your youth,” he said, stimulated for the 
retort. “Your forethought was quite Promethean, in 
fact. I should think you would thank the stars under 
which you were born for your great good fortune.” 

“ Then you really think I am fortunate? ” she quickly 
asked, as though interpreting his remark seriously. 

“ In one sense, certainly,” he replied. 

“ I don’t mean that.” She said this with an impatient 
gesture. And looking him frankly in the face she went 
on: “ You know I liked you then, and like you now. 
You would have made me happy.” This was delicate 
ground, and the color deepened upon her cheeks. But. 
she had an end to reach, and did not falter. “ It is not 
that I escaped disappointment by refusing you. But I 
wish you to tell me what you think — of him! ” 

The instant the words had passed her lips, she realized 
that she had not said what she intended to say. The 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


49 


whole remark verged upon an impropriety. He saw her 
confusion; a liner sense than many possess permitted him 
to understand, better than herself, the promptings of her 
words. 

. “ I think he is evidently a very evil-minded man; pos- 
sibly a murderer, or red-handed pirate masquerading 
under respectable colors,” Philip Temple declared, as 
though he thought her impetuous query had been made 
in jest. And the delicate turn of his retort relieved her 
embarrassment, which it was in his power to have made 
painful. 

But it was not in his heart to allow her even to inflict 
pain upon herself. 

Her confusion was still further banished by the appear- 
ance of Miss Wentworth, whose dimpled face wore an 
almost rapt expression. 

h music? ” she cried, in a whis- 



Once more they became concious of the rythmic, throb- 
bing melody, which rose and fell like the breaking of 
surr upon a distant shore. At times it died away to a 
faint murmur, as though an adverse wind bore the sounds 
another way. Then it would swell upon the air again, 
like a strong wind sweeping the tuneful strings of an 
seolian harp. 

As Philip had said, it was such music as one might 
dream of. 

“ It is wonderful,” Temple said. 

“I wish it would stop!” Mrs. Boynton exclaimed, 
half- breathlessly. 

“ You haven’t told us yet the name of the performer?” 
Philip reminded. 

“ You couldn’t guess in a week.” Lou returned. 

“ Probably not, as I don’t know anyone in the house, 
except Mrs. Boynton and yourself.” 

“ 1 sha’n’t teil you, either, you shall come and see for 
yourself. All the people are in there, and they are under 
a spell, I think. You will be surprisd, Tracy, more than 


50 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


I was, because — but I won’t give you a single clue, 
come? ” 

She beckoned them on, and half-mechanically they fol- 
lowed. They passed through one deserted room and 
reached the doorway of another — the one where the piano 
was. 

They paused upon the threshold and looked in. All 
the guests were there, some standing, others sitting. As 
Lou Wentworth had expressed it, they seemed to have 
fallen under a spell. JBut it was broken at the moment, 
for the music ceased. 

The player rose from the instrument, shrugged his 
shoulders, walked over to the fireplace and bathed his 
hands in the warmth. 

It was Mr. Brock! 

There was a moment of breathless silence, and then 
someone attempted to applaud. But only one or two 
others joined in, and the attempt was abandoned amid 
some embarrassment. 

There was likewise a murmur of “ wonderful,” “weird,” 
and kindered expressions, which became quite general. 

Mr. Brock bowed and smiled his acknowledgment, 
and sinking upon a chair, abandoned himself to the pleas- 
ure of getting warm. 

“ Did you ever hear the like, Mrs. Boynton ?” exclaimed 
Alma Burton, who had drawn near them. She was rather 
tall, rather pale, and evidently of the dreamy, listless 
type of young women, who are always popular with the 
other sex, though they sometimes fail to get a husband 
of their very own. Alma’s eyes were dark, her lashes 
long, and she lent everyone an impression that she was 
beautiful. Yet a closer study of her features brought 
disappointment. She was not even pretty. She merely 
knew how to smile, and possessed a pleasing voice. 

“ I never wish to again,” Tracy replied, in an incau- 
tious tone. Mr. Brocloglanced toward them in his alert 
fashion, but it was* unlikely that he distinguished her 
words, as he betrayed no signs of having done so. 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


51 


“Then you didn’t enjoy it?” Alma questioned so cau- 
tiously that Mr. Brock could not by any possibility over- 
hear. For Miss Burton always took care that no one 
should dislike her. 

“ No. It sounded like the performer — subtle, danger- 
ous to the senses!” 

They were in the next room when this was spoken, so 
there was no danger of giving offense to the object of the 
remark. 

“ Tracy is so queer,” Lou exclaimed. “ She likes or 
dislikes everybody. There is no half-way with her, I’m 
not like that. There are those 1 hate, and others that I 
love, and a great many whom I call my friends, and yet 
don’t care very much for them.” 

“And I like everybody,” declared Alma, with one of 
her rare smiles. She might have added with equal truth 
that no one disliked her. 

Philip had stopped to speak to Mr. Brock. He now 
came up, and was presented to Miss Burton. 

“ Mr. Brock declares that the reception his music has 
met with gave him the chills,” Temple said, laughing. 

“ Poor fellow! I really pity him,” Alma exclaimed. 

“ If there is one who pities, she should let the senti- 
ment do the object some good.” 

This was Mrs. Boynton’s suggestion. 

“ It would be a sight for the gods, Alma bestowing 
consolation upon Mr. Brock,” cried Lou. “They say 
that pity is akin to love,” she added, perhaps a little 
spitefully. 

“ ‘ To trace all actions to their secret springs, 

Would make indeed some melancholy mirth ! 1 ” 

Alma sweetly quoted. 

Just then Boy Blanchard appeared, and upon some 
slight pretext — it did not require a great one — he led 
Alma and Lou away. 

At the same time Philip made a discovery. It was a 
rift of sunlight upon the floor. It faded even while he 
was looking, yet it promised a clearing up of the storm. 


52 


A DREAM OF MUSIC. 


“The discovery is ours, and let us be the first to 
behold the departure of the vanquished clouds,” Tracy 
exclaimed, a sudden glow brightening her cheeks. In a 
moment they were out upon the veranda. To their 
surprise they saw that the broken clouds through which 
the sunshine gleamed were low upon the western horizon. 
“ Another day nearly gone,” said Philip. And he added : 
“I must go, Tracy. Jason Webb promised to help me 
investigate the mystery which I encountered last night. 
Do you know, that silly adventure has haunted me ever 
since it occurred ! ” 

She looked at him searchingly. “ And your dream of 
last night, — does that haunt you, too?” she questioned. 

He smiled, hesitated, then answered: 

“Yes, and you shall know what it was, though it is 
bad taste in me to repeat it. You will bear in mind that 
it was only a dream.” 

“I will remember.” 

“Well, I dreampt that I was thirsty, and bent over a 
spring of water to drink.” 

He hesitated again, seeing a fixed, startled look come 
into her face. 

“Go on — go on!” she breathlessly exclaimed. 

“ And I saw your face reflected there ; and, as I might 
once have done, I bent to kiss the image. The contact 
awoke me, and I found — ” He interrupted himself, for 
Mrs. Boynton’s face had grown deathly white, and she 
seemed about to sw r oon. 

At the same time he became conscious of a third 
presence. And turning, he saw, bundled up in an 
overcoat, the eccentric Mr. Brock! 


THE MAGIC SPRING. 


53 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE MAGIC SPRING 

** Of love that never founa his earthly close, 

What sequel ? 11 

Tenneyson. 

By a powerful effort Tracy Boynton controlled the sud- 
den sense of faintness which had come upon her. The 
sight of Mr. Brock stimulated her effort, as a sudden 
danger which called for vigorous self-defense might have 
done. 

Mr. Brock was close behind Philip, yet there was no 
sign that he had overheard what the young man was say- 
ing. He seemed absorbed in 'watching the red glow that 
lit up the distant trees and clouds. 

Philip would have stepped forward to assist his com- 
panion, but by a slight, yet vehement gesture she waved 
him back. 

“ A shoolboy’s dream I should call that,” she said, in 
a tone of forced lightness. Then, while he was bewil- 
dered by her pallor and incongruous speech, she added: 

“ Perhaps you were thinking of the romantic stories 
told of the spring over yonder, w r hich is said to reflect 
the face of one’s sweetheart if one drinks from it by 
moonlight. Of course you have heard about it — your 
Mr. Webb is of course familiar with all the fables con- 
cerning places of interest in this vicinity.” 

“The Magic Spring, is it called?” Philip questioned. 

Mr. Brock suddenly seemed to become cognizant of 
their presence. He faced them, and gravely said: 

“ You young people may laugh at such things, but 
you’ll see the day that you’ll believe in ’em.” 

Both looked at him in surprise. There was an expres- 
sion of deep earnestness upon his cold, white face. 

“ So ypu put faith in that sort of thing? ” Philip ques- 
tioned. 


THE MAGIC SPRING. 


54 

“ Yes, and with reason,” he replied. 

“ You have had personal experience? ” 

“ Yes. And I’ve seen others have it. Minds impress 
minds when they are distant from each other. There 
are laws we know nothing, or very little about. Scien- 
tists don’t count them as worthy of investigation; such as 
you laugh at them; ignorant people run away from them. 
I suppose, Mr. Temple, that you’ve heard of the myste- 
rious lights seen upon the mountain base at night? The 
spot is yonder, half mile or such a matter from here. 
Decidedly odd, and worth looking into, I take it.” 

Mr. Brock buttoned his coat more closely and thrust 
his hands deep in his pockets, as though it were a bitter 
cold day. 

“Have you seen the phenomenon?” Philip questioned. 

“Yes, once. I’m seldom out after sunset, however. 
Evening gives me a chill even indoors. But Isaw it once. 
Tried to nnd where it was, with usual results. Illusive, 
mysterious, aggravating. May look into the matter at 
some future time. I may not. What’s your idea? Got 
a theory, I suppose?” 

“ I have no theory,” Philip replied. The other shrugged 
his shoulders and abruptly rose. 

“ Sun setting in a cloud — sign of more rain,” he de- 
clared, in evident disgust. And then, with a nod: 

“ Good night. When Boynton comes I’d like to see 
him. Game of whist on the docket.” 

The black moustache moved in what might, or might 
not, have been a smile, and then the eccentric man 
stalked into the house. 

In silence Philip descended the steps, and walked 
slowly along the path. Mrs. Boynton walked by his side. 
As Mr. Brock had declared, the sun was sinking into a 
cloud. The western horizon was rugged and uneven in 
outline. There were mountains and hills, lying in a long 
irregular range, blue and misty in the distance. They 
were crowned with a glory of purple and gold. The gold, 
however, was fading, and the purple became more somber. 


THE MAGIC SPRING. 


55 


Along tlie path lay lights and shadows, wavering and 
swaying, assuming fantastic outlines, coming and going 
like the joys and sorrows of life. The valley below, with 
the zigzag road, lay fresh and green, as though it were 
newly made, verdure and all. 

Presently Mrs. Boynton paused, cast a quick glance 
backward. 


“ I must go no farther, or I shall not dare return alone,” 
she said. 

“ Perhaps we may meet your husband if we keep on,” 
Philip suggested. 

“ lie will not be alone, and I had rather not meet him 
with the others. I wish he had not gone at all. I hoped 
he would stay and help to make it pleasant for you. I 
wish you to become friends.” 

She spoke very earnestly, her voice so low that he 
could not have distinguished her words but for the per - 
fect stillness that reigned around them. 

“ Perhaps he doesn’t care to count me as a friend,” 
the young man returned. Unconsciously, when alone 
together, they had assumed the low, confidential tones 
and manner which had characterized their conversations 
in former days. 

“ It isn’t that, Philip,” 6he quickly said. There was 
another brief pause. And then : 

“ Chester and you are very unlike each other. He is 
not one to form strong friendships. He is rather indiff- 
erent toward those whom he calls ‘ordinary people.’ He 
has a great mind, and a great soul.” 

Philip looked at her with covert keenness. How beau- 
tiful she was ! He lingered at her side as though under 
a spell. 

“Did you ever speak to him of me!” he presently 
asked. “ Before we met yesterday, I mean,” he added, 
as she hesitated. 

“ No,” she answered. 

“Why not? ” 

“ There never came a fit time, but once. Once we 


56 


THE MAGIC SPRING. 


were speaking of a young couple of our acquaintance who 
broke what was supposed to be a virtual engagement. I 
then came near speaking of you and our former relations. 
But he uttered a remark that sealed my lips.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“That he would as soon wed the divorced wife of 
another, as one who had been affianced. He believes 
that a sentiment, although buried for a time, is im- 
mortal, and may spring into life again.” 

Philip Temple’s face was very pale; but the sunset 
glow falling upon it disguised the fact. 

“ I believe that love, if genuine, is never buried,” he de- 
clared, speaking slowly, yet in a firm, even tone. “ There 
are betrothals which are the mere fruits of fancy,” he went 
on, “ and these may be broken and renewed, likethe sworn 
friendships of boys and girls at school. They are with- 
out foundation, and like a bubble, they are dissipated, as 
they ought to be. But there are betrothals in which the 
hand of fate is unmistakably present. These are some- 
times broken. But the sentiment prompting them is 
never buried. It springs from the roots of their mutual 
existence, and although they may be separated, and marry 
a later choice, the first love merely sleeps. Misfortune, 
misunderstanding, the common discords of life may 
awaken it, and the realization that a mistake has been 
made will come like a shock.” 

Temple paused ; his gaze had been fixed upon the deep- 
ening shadows of the valley, now he faced his companion, 
Ins countenance lighted by the frank smile which bespoke 
only a chivalrous, honorable friendliness 

“What is your belief, Tracy?” he questioned. 

“Mine?” She raised her eyes to his face for a mo- 
ment. Then abruptly: 

“ Look yonder and you will see a pair of lovers, pure 
and simple!” 

He turned to glance in the direction indicated, and saw 
Boy Blanchard, in a stooping posture, and being trans- 
formed into a savage at the hands of Lou Wentworth — 


THE MAGIC SPRING. 


5 ^ 

at least, in appearance, for he was bedecked from head to 
foot in clematis and trailing evergreen. At the same time 
Philip heard the rustle of drapery, and turning, saw Mrs. 
Boyntoq running away from him with the lightness and 
grace of a gazelle. 

“ Good night !” he called after her. But she did not 
even glance Backward in response. In another moment 
she was hidden from view. 

Temple turned away with a sense of indescribable dis- 
appointment. Why should he experience such a feeling? 
In a vague sort of way he asked himself the question 
But he did not answer it. As he strode rapidly along 
the path, a sense of weighty depression assailed him. 

“I’ll go away to-morrow!” he exclaimed, as he has- 
tened on through the gathering shadows. “ There is no 
reason why 1 should remain nere. Mr. Boynton, it is 
evident, dislikes me. I had hoped that they might help 
me to pass the month of my sojourn here more happily. 
But such is not my good fortune.” 

The resolution to go away on the morrow was but the 
result of an impulse, and that quickly passed. As he 
neared the point at which he had met with the curious 
adventure upon the night before, his thoughts were di- 
verted from the fit of moodiness into wdiich he had fallen. 

It was not yet dark. Under the shadow of the moun- 
tain the twilight lingered long. Around the rock be- 
yond which lie had seen the mysterious light mingled 
light and shadows lay. They danced and shifted gro- 
tesquely with the slowly swaying branches of the sur- 
rounding trees and shrubbery. A soft breeze, which had 
suddenly sprung up into life, whispered amidst the 
foliage, and sent down showers of water from the laden 
leaves. 

Temple paused and glanced toward the spot whence 
the mysterious light had gleamed. A sense of vague 
uneasiness stole over him. A red squirrel scampered 
past him, and he started as though he feared assault. In 
this place all sounds and all objects assumed a weirdness 


THE MAGIC SPUING. 


58 

that was almost oppressive. But he did not see the 
illusive light. 

“ It is too early,” he reflected. And then he laughed 
outright. “ As though I really expected to encounter 
some uncanny apparition,” he added, contemptuously. 
“ I will look the ground over now, while there is suf- 
ficient light. I will see for myself if there is not some 
easily discoverable cause for the phenomenon which has 
puzzled so many. A little coolness and care may clear 
up the whole affair.” 

He began pushing his way through the labyrinth of 
undergrowth. As lie did so, a sudden “ swish ” in his 
rear caused him to abruptly face about. 


THE LIGHT AGAIN. 


59 


CHAPTER X. 

THE LIGHT AGAIN. 

** I have thee not, and jet I see thee still. 

Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 

To feeling as to sight V” Macbeth. 

Temple saw the figure of a man in the path ; a young 
stalwart fellow, who had paused, and was peering through 
the shrubbery. 

“ Halloa, Webb!” Philip ejaculated, advancing. 

“ So you’re here ahead of me,” the young farmer re- 
turned, in his quiet tone. 

The two looked into each other’s faces in mute ques- 
tioning for a moment. 

66 I’ve seen nothing yet,” Temple declared, at length. 

“ Been here long?” the other asked. 

“Ho, I was on my way to your house. I thought I 
wouldn’t keep Mrs. Webb waiting for me to-night.” 

“ If you want your supper, we’ll go over. But I thought 
maybe you would rather stop and investigate this busi • 
ness first. Just as you say.” 

“ If it makes no difference to your wife — ” 

Webb interrupted by a gesture. 

“ Hot a bit,” lie declared. He glanced upward at the 
heavy clouds and added: 

“We might wait till a better night. The storm isn’t 
over with yet I guess. Looks to me as though we should 
have a young deluge before morning.” Even as he spoke 
the patter of huge raindrops sounded around them. 

“ I’m not afraid of the rain; I rather like it, in fact,” 
Temple returned. 

Indeed, the more difficult the adventure, the greater 
zest in its pursuit in his present mood. 

There was a sort of pleasant excitement in the antici- 
pation of genuine adventure. For, although he did not 
believe in the supernatural, Philip was impressed by a 


THE LIGHT AGAI&. 


60 

certainty that he was upon the eve of an extraordinary 
experience. 

“Just as you say,” Webb declared. He led the way 
to a spot partly under the huge, shelving rock, and said: 

“We might as well wait here until it gets darker. We 
can’t tind nothing by daylight. Maybe there’ll nothing 
happen to-night, anyhow. Be just our luck, wouldn’t it?” 

The rain began to fall heavily, and the twilight rapidly 
deepened into darkness. The moon would not set for an 
hour or more, and it promised to be very dark before 
that time, for the clouds already obscured its feeble 
light. 

Webb produced and lighted a lantern. 

“ Thought this would help us some,” he said. 

“We shall need it, without doubt.” Temple paused, 
and then added, with a laugh: “Aren’t you afraid the 
ghosts will break it for you ? ” 

“Ho, 1 guess not. I sha’n’t run till I’m obliged to. 
I can take care of myself, I think, and I guess you can.” 

“ This is a queer sort of adventure for me to be mixed 
up with,” said Temple, half-musingly. It was now rain 
ing so heavily that there was a dull roar all around them. 
It presently slackened, however, and J ason W ebb rose to 
his feet. 

“ I’m going to see if it’s there” he declared, 

“The light, you mean? ” 

“ Yes.” 

He handed his lantern to Temple and added: 

“ Keep that and stay here till I come back. We don’t 
want to scare the spooks off to begin with, you know.” 

Philip took the lantern, and crouched close underneath 
the rock, which effectually kept off the rain. Jason 
Webb glided out into the path, and passed from view. 

Several long, silent moments dragged away. Silent, 
save for the dripping rain and slight rustling sound of 
the foliage stirred by the light breeze. Then the stout 
form of Webb came into view. 

“ It’s there!” he announced in a whisper. 


THE LIGHT AGAIN. 


61 


“ The light? ” Philip questioned. 

“ Yes.” 

“ In the usual place?” 

“ Just the same. Rather brighter than usual, though. 
Owing to the darkness, probably.” 

Jason Webb’s tones did not betray the slightest trace 
of excitement. But, although incredulous and deter- 
mined, Mr. Temple could not help a sensation of vague 
apprehension. 

“We’ll find out what it all means if there’s any way to 
do it,” he exclaimed, stepping forth into the path. 

In another moment the twain stood at the point whence 
the mysterious light was visible. There it was, bright, 
steady, save for the twinkling effect lent by the swaying 
shrubbery. 

Philip looked down at the ground at his feet. Rifts of 
light and shadow, cast by the mysterious glow, were 
visible there. 

“ Nothing ghostly about that, to all appearance,” he 
declared, audibly. 

“ I should say there wasn’t, and the next thing is to go 
to it. How shall we do that? Together?” 

“ Yes.” 

“And if we find nothing?” 

“ Then one of us will come back, and the other stay, 
with the lantern. Then the one in the path can tell 
whether the light still shines or whether it’s ail illusion 
peculiar to this exact point of view. It’s mighty persis- 
tent anyhow. I’m getting dead in earnest.” 

Temple was, indeed, thoroughly aroused. A practical, 
clear-headed man dislikes to encounter any puzzle that 
appears simple, and yet will not be solved. 

Temple strode forward with the lantern. Webb fol- 
lowed close at his heels. Both were fearless, determined, 
bent upon clearing up a mystery which had baffled them 
before. 

They got through the dense shrubbery, and reached 
that point from which the mysterious light, if it did not 


62 


THE LIGHT AGAIN. 


move from the original position, would again become 
visible. 

“As I expected,” declared "Webb, as they paused and 
stared blankly ahead. For the object of their quest was 
no longer visible. Only darkness, and that of the blackest 
sort, lay before them. 

“ Of course, it disappeared,” Philip impatiently re- 
plied. And added: 

“ We’ll see where it went to, however, and at short 
notice. Come.” 

The twain advanced side by side. 

The way was very rough, and they were obliged to 
proceed with caution. They presently found their fur- 
ther progress barred by a perpendicular rock, that rose 
fully twenty feet above their heads. 

“This is as far as we can go in this direction,” Webb 
declared. 

“ This is the exact point from which the light shone, 
isn’t it?” Philip questioned. 

“ I should say it was.” 

“ Then the spook, if it is one, is rather close to us. I 
fancy that we can solve this mystery if we stay here long 
enough. Whoever is playing this pretty trick will get 
tired of hiding, and if we stay here till daylight we’ll 
have a chance then to find where he keeps himself. But 
to begin with we’ll carry out my original purpose. You 
or I will return to the path. Which shall it be? The 
one who stays here will keep the lantern.” 

“I’ll stay, Mr. Temple,” Webb declared, with quiet 
decisiveness. 

“ Had you rather? ” 

“ Yes. I guess I can handle the spook easier than you 
could, if he happened to be muscular. I ain’t very slow 
in a tussle,” the young farmer said. 

He was, indeed, a powerfully built fellow, and with 
muscles hardened by toil, he would not be a safe man to 
attack. Besides, he possessed a degree of coolness which 
Philip Temple envied. Although sufficiently resolute, 


THE LIGHT AGAIN. 


63 


he could not repress a feeling of intense anxiety con- 
cerning tlie result of their bold investigation. 

“ If you want my help, call,” Temple said, as he 
turned to retrace his steps. He abruptly paused and 
added : 

“ If I see two lights I shall know one of them is your 
lantern.” 

“Yes, and I’ll h’ist mine up and down, so that you’ll 
know which it. is,” the other returned. 

Philip picked his way cautiously over the rugged 
rocks and through the dense shrubbery. Peaching the 
path, he turned to look back. At the same time he 
caught the sound of a hasty exclamation from his com- 
panion. 

To his consternation, no light was visible. 

“What is it, Webb?” Philip shouted, thrilled by a 
vague alarm. 

There was no response, yet, at that moment, a light 
appeared at the paint at which he had left Jason and the 
lantern. 

“Are you all right? I can see only one light; is that 
yours?” Temple again shouted, louder than before. 

Was it imagination? Or did he hear a muffled 
response? Why did not his companion answer plainly? 
Had anything happened to him? 

Once more the young man called: 

“ J ason W ebb — speak ! ” 

He listened intently for a response. It was raining 
heavily again; the drip, drip of water from the foliage 
sounded near him; at a little distance a small mountain 
stream, formed by the heavy rain, splashed and gurgled. 
These, and only these, sounds were audible. 

A sudden suspicion dawned upon Philip’s active 
brain. “Thinks to frighten me, does he?” he audibly 
exclaimed. “Who knows but this sharp young farmer 
is at the bottom of the whole hoax? If he is, I shall let 
him laugh at me, that’s all. But he seemed to be in 
earnest. Only he was pretty cool. Those country 


64 : 


THE LIGHT AGAIN. 


people usually have superstitious notions, and don’t fancy 
this sort of a trick. I’ll know the truth, at all events. 
I won’t be laughed at for cowardice, if I am for my 
pains.” 

Philip once more pushed his way through the dense 
shrubbery. He had an umbrella, but among the bushes 
he could only use it as a cane, with which to feel his way, 
and in consequence he was already drenched to the skin. 

He got through the bushes once more, and looked for 
the light. 

It was gone. 

Again Temple experienced a thrill akin to fear, yet he 
did not flinch. 

“Hoax or not, I’ll not be frightened away,” he mut- 
tered. 

He groped his way forward, and reached the perpen- 
dicular wall of rock. As he did so his foot came in 
contact with a yielding body. He stopped, and with a 
sensation of intense horror, discovered that the form of a 
man lay prostrate at his feet. 

To strike a match was but the work of an instant, and 
a tiny point of light fell upon the upturned face of Jason 
Webb! 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


65 


CHAPTER XI. 

LOVE IS BLIND. 

"Love is blind, and lovers cannot see.” 

— ShaTcspeare . 

“ Where did Alma go so suddenly? ” Roy Blanchard 
questioned, abruptly rising from the crouching posture 
in which he had been submitting to Lou Wentworth’s 
unique decorations. 

“ You might institute a search for her,” the other de- 
murely suggested. Her face was daintily flushed; it 
seemed to have taken on a brighter, sweeter radiance 
than it usually wore. 

“A good idea,” Roy returned. With clematis and 
evergreens pendent from his hat and shoulders, his ap- 
pearance was decidedly grotesque. But no amount of 
absurdity in garb could detract an iota from his manly 
beauty. He looked like the prince in some fairy tale, 
with the golden sunset light atremble upon his fine face, 
and lending a deeper bronze to his beard. 

He started, as though to begin the quest at once. 
Then he looked back with a smile and said : 

“Come, Lou.” 

“ Where? ” 

“In search of Miss Burton.” 

“Do you really wish to find her? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Then I’ll go back. You can’t expect to charm us 
both at the same time.” 

There was the old flash of resentment in her tones, and 
she turned away. 

lie was at her side in a moment, and gazing down 
upon her with genuine, tender pleading in his eyes. 

“ Don’t say that, dearest ! ” he exclaimed. 

“Who gave you the right to call me that?” she re- 
torted. 

“A power that bestows the right on whom it belongs.” 


66 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


u Ah! and will you kindly tell me what power it is 
that favors you so greatly ? ” 

“ The power of love.” 

“ Love! ” Lou laughed a trifle scornfully 

“ Love for yourself, or for Alma? ” she questioned, 
looking him fully in the face. 

“ You are cruel to say that,” he returned. He cast a 
hasty glance about them, and then bent his head until 
his beard touched her cheek. 

“ Do you really think I care for Alma Burton?” he 
asked. 

“ I hope so,” she replied without looking at him. 

“ You hope I do?” 

« Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because you have made her care for you. Do you 
think it is right to win a prize merely for the zest of the 
pursuit, and then cast it off ?” 

“Ho, I do not think it is right. It is a monstrous 
wrong.” 

There was a suppressed vehemence in his tones, for 
which Lou could not account. 

She looked cautiously up into his face. But his glance 
was fixed upon the deepening shadows, and she could 
read nothing there. 

“ So do I,” she said, speaking slowly. There was a 
period of silence — a silence full of vague meaning to 
each. Was there an unconscious misunderstanding be- 
tween them, or was Roy Blanchard fickle, as he seemed? 

“ We seem to agree pretty well, in the matter of theory 
and principal,” he declared, at length, with an odd smile. 

“ 1 don’t understand. I was not aware that we were 
discussing ethics,” she returned. 

“ I was, if you were not. I suppose your coincidence 
of opinion was merely an evidence of your good nature 
— your desire to please. I can hardly believe that you 
really agree with me in this matter.” 

“ I wish you would be a little more plain, Mr. Blanch- 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


67 


ard. Your gravity is a trifle appalling, in view of my 
ignorance of what it is all about.” 

“We were speaking of -winning prizes only to cast 
them off after they were won, were we not? At least 
you suggested the subject, but perhaps you were think- 
ing of something else at the time.” 

“ Oh, yes.” She laughed then, perhaps to hide some 
other emotion. 

“ We settled that question, did we not?” she added. 

“ Yes. As I said, we agreed upon theory. But I 
fear that you believe as I do out of deference rather than 
from your heart. Certainly, in practice you sadly con- 
tradict your declared principle.” 

“ So you think I’m not sincere?” she asked, looking up 
at him. There was a peculiar light in her eyes. It 
strongly resembled repressed anger. 

“ I fear you are not. If you are, then you are fickle. 
I believe I had rather have you the latter, for insincerity 
in a woman is the worst of attributes — worse than an 
ugly temper.” 

This was deliberately spoken, as though he were play- 
ing a card upon which a game was to be won or lost. 

She stepped quickly away from him and then paused, 
facing him, in a pretty, spirited attitude. Her arms 
were flung upward, and her white fingers clasped above 
her head. In the gathering gloom she looked like a 
statue which Boy had once seen in a gallery of art. 

“What a moralist you are, to be sure!” she cried 
“ Do you know,” she added, -with fine sarcasm, “ that 
you used the Jvery phrases, just now, that I once heard 
from the lips of a very good preacher ? Perhaps you 
heard the same sermon. But I had rather not believe 
you a plagiarist. Such fine sentiments lose their force 
when sounded by an echo.” 

It was Boy’s turn to show irritation. He was sensi- 
tive, and her scorn stung him keenly. Pie looked at her 
in silence for a moment. But he repressed the sharp re- 
tort that rose to his lips. 


68 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


“ I saw you weeping the other day for a cause that im- 
pelled me to admire you more than ever before,” he 
slowly said. She looked at him, smiling, and he went 
on, in the same measured tone: 

“ A swallow, sailing swiftly over the house, encoun- 
tered a telephone wire in its flight, and fell upon the 
ground with a broken wing, you saw it, and expressed 
true feminine sympathy for the unfortunate creature. 
And then, when Mr. Boynton took it up and with cold 
mercy put it out of its misery, I saw tears in your eyes — 
tears which must have been prompted by tenderness.” 

He paused again. Then he added: 

“ And yet you seem to delight in inflicting pain upon 
me.” 

“ You are not a swallow,” she said, with rigid iciness. 
u And I am not worthy so much consideration as even a 
single sparrow?” 

“ Oh, yes — rather more, I think. But you’re not so 
defenseless. If you were I might weep for you — at 
least, I’m sure I should if you flew against a telephone 
wire and broke a wing.” 

He did not smile, and she exclaimed: 

“ Don't be so solemn, Mr. Blanchard. "We can at least 
be friendly, can’t we?” 

u Yes, we can be friendly,” he answered in an altered 
voice. “ And as friends,” he added, “ we will try and 
And Alma. I’m almost alarmed about her. And see — 
it is going to rain again.” 

He drew her hand within his arm unresisted, and in 
silence they turned down a narrow path that led to the 
zigzag road. 

“So you think Alma likes me?” he presently ques- 
tioned. 

“ Doesn’t your vanity tell you?” she returned. 

“ I have no vanity.” 

“ I beg pardon— I know better, of course. I dare say 
you fancy yourself a sort of a Caliban, too ugly to be 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


69 


looked upon without causing sensations of repulsion in 
the beholder. Of course you are not vain.” 

Her irony sounded good natured at least, and he 
laughed in response. 

“ You overrate my modesty,” he said. “ I really am 
aware that I’m tremendously good looking. Sometimes 
I’ve doubted, but I have consulted my barber and my 
tailor upon the subject, and they swear that I’m their hand- 
somest customer. Thus am I reassured. Yet, when I’m 
with the ladies, I find that they shrink from me when- 
ever I make the least approach to seriousness. They like 
me to make wit for them ; but I’m an ogre when I grow 
sentimental.” 

“ Now you excite my compassion,” Miss Wentworth 
demurely remarked. 

“ I knew I should. You see, this condition of things 
keeps up a terrible strain upon that portion of my brain 
which manufactures wit.” 

“ I beg pardon,” she interrupted. 

“What is it?” 

“ You are mistaken in a point of phrenology, I’m afraid. 
I have been told that wit doesn’t come from the brain. 
It is said to be spontaneous, like sneezing.” 

Roy laughed at this, so heartily that his companion 
joined in the outburst of mirth. 

“ Who told you that? ” he asked. 

“ I think I read it. Or perhaps it was my wit that 
prompted the fancy.” 

“ Then I shall not credit the theory. I had rather be- 
lieve that my brain is capable of something.” 

“It is a pleasing delusion, isn’t it?” she returned, 



He then held up his hand, with a glance at the darken- 
ing clouds. 

“ It is beginning to rain,” he declared. 

“ And here is Alma,” Lou exclaimed, as a tall, grace- 
ful figure came toward them. 


70 


LOVE IS BLIND. 


“I — I feared I was lost!” she breathlessly cried, as 
she came up to them. “ I have been wandering about 
for half an hour, and I began to think I had gotten a 
long way from the hotel. Is it far? ” she asked. 

“ They could hear you there if you should shout,” Roy 
replied. 

“We were looking for you,” he added, “ but would 
have given up the search in a moment more.” 

“ And left me to perish in the storm? ” she plaintively 
questioned. 

“ No, not that. Lou might have done so, but I would 
not. I should have looked for you at break of day.” 

They hastened toward the liouse, for the rain began 
falling in huge drops. 

They separated upon the veranda, and entered at dif- 
ferent doors. 

“ ¥e are friends?” Roy found opportunity to ask, as 
he lingered an instant in the hall. 

“Yes,” Lou answered. And then Mrs. Boynton came 
along, and Roy hastily left them. 

“ Hid you see nothing of Chester? ” Tracy questioned, 
as her friend drew her into an adjacent room. 

“ No. Then he has not returned ? ” 

“ He has not returned,” the young wife echoed. 

Even as she spoke, the sound of excited voices in the 
hall caused them to listen in vague alarm. 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 


’tT 


CHAPTER XII. 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 

“It is as the air, invulnerable, 

And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

—Shakspeare. 

“ Heavens! lie is dead!” Philip Temple exclaimed, as 
his gaze fell upon the pale, upturned face of Jason Webb. 
At the same time the assertion was contradicted, how- 
ever ; for the form moved, and as the match went out the 
young farmer opened his eyes. 

u ho, I ain’t dead ! ” he declared, rather faintly, 
me up, and we’ll get out of this place!” he 

Temple complied without uttering a word. Webb 
leaned heavily upon his arm, but they managed to work 
their way back to the path. 

“ Now let me rest a bit,” Jason said, breathlessly. 

He seated himself upon the wet ground, with his back 
against a small tree. Then Philip found voice to speak. 

“ Tell me what happened? ” he eagerly questioned. 

“ I was knocked down — that’s all!” was the terse re- 
sponse. 

“And your lantern ? ” 

“ Smashed, same as Jim Pice’s was. Only he hung 
onto a part of his’n, and I didn’t.” 

They were silent a moment. The water dripped upon 
them, and around them. Philip glanced toward the spot 
of mystery. With a shudder, he saw the mysterious, tan- 
tilizing light, bright, fixed, inviting their investigation. 

“ Is it there? ” Webb asked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I’ve half a mind to go back there, and let ’em tr\ 
that trick over ag’in! ” the young farmer exclaimed. 

“ I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

“ Going to give it up? ” 

“Your not strong enough to do more to-night. What- 


“ Help 
added. 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 


TO 


ever or whoever the being may be, it has a decided advan- 
tage over us, and I don’t like to run unnecessary risks. 
We’ll try again sometime, with more to help us. We 
will merely postpone our investigations to a more propi- 
tious time.” 

“ Maybe you’re right. But I hate to give up. I don’t 
want the spook to laugh at me, and it won’t, when 1 get 
through with it.” 

Webb rose to his feet, and also glanced toward the 
light. It still blinked through the interstices of the in- 
tervening shrubbery. 

The man stooped, groped in the path with his hand, 
and then stood erect. 

“ I’m going to heave a stone at the darned thing, as a 
parting salute!” he exclaimed. 

He suited his action to the word. The sharp click of the 
missile as it struck the perpendicular rock sounded dis- 
tinctly. And the lujht disappeared! 

“ Put his eye out, didn’t 12” Webb exclaimed trium- 
phantly. “Sow 1 guess we’ll go home. I’ve got a 
bunch on my head growing big’s a hen’s-egg.” he added, 
as they started toward the cottage. 

“ Did you see nothing before you were struck? ” Tem- 
ple asked. 

“ Not a thing. Whoever played the trick stood be- 
hind, or above me, I can’t say which.” 

“Was there anything ghostly about it?” 

“ I can’t say. Never had any personal experience 
with ’em, unless this is a ghost. But the rap I received 
was pretty substantial.” 

They continued to discuss the remarkable adventure 
until they reached the cottage. And there they were re- 
ceived with unmistakable relief by Jenny, who had grown 
white-faced with apprehension. 

There the subject was discussed again in all its points. 
And when there was nothing more that could be said con- 
cerning it, they each in turn related ghost stories which 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 


73 


they had heard, as people do when stimulated by a fresh 
experience. 

In the morning the rain had ceased. It dawned cool 
and delightful, and Philip Temple was out in good season. 

He accompanied Webb to the scene of their late adven- 
ture, and there they found the broken lantern, just as it 
had fallen from Jason’s hand. The glass globe was shat- 
tered, and the metal considerably dented. 

“ They hit it with a rock, I should say,” Temple de- 
clared, after a careful examination of the implement. 

“ I guess they hit me with one, too,” declared liis com- 
panion. 

They proceeded to make a thorough exploration of the 
premises. But without significant result. 

“Nothing here in daytime, jest as I told you,” Jason 
reiterated. 

“ There are rocks, and plenty of thickets to serve as 
hiding-places,” Temple replied. 

“ Of course there is. But they don’t signify anything. 
It’s the spooks, if there be any, that we w T ant to catch.” 

“ I don’t know as I really care to catch one, if that is 
the real character of the denizens of this place.” 

“ Perhaps you’re right — I guess I don’t neither.” Ja- 
son laughed good humoredly. J list then they were star- 
tled by the sound of footsteps in the path. 

“Halloa — who comes now?” the young farmer ex- 
claimed. The person approaching was a tall, lank indi- 
vidual, with thin, “ sandy ” whiskers and moustache, and 
very large eyes. In truth, the man’s eyes 'were the most 
prominent of his features. “ Jim Rice, sure as I live,” 
Webb declared, as they came forth upon the path and 
confronted the new-comer. 

There was no introduction. Temple had not seen this 
man before, yet Rice knew the former to be his neigh- 
bor’s “ city boarder.” 

“ Looking for my hoss,” he announced, in a some- 
what nasal tone. 

Teinple thought he ought to be able to see the animal if 


74 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 


anybody could, with such eyes. But he didn’t voice this 
mental comment. 

“ Lost him?” Jason questioned. 

“Yes. Jumped out of the pastur’ I guess. Found 
one of the bars broke last night. Tracked him up this 
way, but somehow I can’t see what become of him. The 
ground was soft yesterday, you know, on account of the 
rain, and I ought to be able to track the critter if I ever 
could. But after he struck this path, back here a piece, I 
can’t find a sign of a hoof-print.” 

“Was he shod?” Webb asked, thoroughly interested in 
the misfortune of his neighbor. 

“ He had old shoes on, the corks ’bout gone. He was 
sort of run down with the spring and summer work, you 
know, so I thought t’other day I’d turn him out for a 
week or so. But, as I told my wife, I’d no idea the 
critter ’d got life enough left to try to get out of the pas- 
tur’. But lie’s gone and done it. And it’s queer he 
didn’t make straight for the barn. I didn’t s’pose he’d 
go out of sight of that if he had the whole county to range 
in.” 

Jim Bice had a genuine countryman’s prolixity in the 
narration of his tale. It occurs to us now, that country 
people are seldom in so great a rush in anything they do 
as even the most indolent of our city residents appear to 
be. 

“ I’ve seen nothing of your horse, Jim — nor his tracks 
either,” Jason declared. “ Maybe,” he added, “he’s got 
into some confounded place he can’t get out of. Pretty 
rough in some places along the side of the mountain 
here.” 

“ I’d thought of that. Like enough he’s broke a leg, 
or his neck. Hope it’s his neck if either, save killing the 
beast,” said Bice, philosophically. He looked askance at 
Mr. Temple, who had occupied himself with looking along 
the path for horse-tracks. 

“ He seen that ’ere light, has he?” the man asked in a 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 75 

whisper, which was as plainly audible to Philip as it was 
to Jason. 

“ Yes, both of us did, last night,” the other replied. 

“ Try to find out anything, did ye?” 

“We tried a little.” 

“ What did ye make out?” 

“ Got my lantern broke, and a good rap on my head, 
that laid me out straighter’n a string for a few minutes.” 

“ You don’t say ! ” If possible Jim Pice’s eyes became 
fully a size larger, and he glanced somewhat apprehen- 
sively over his shoulder. 

“How did you git out of the scrape?" he eagerly 
questioned. 

“ Mr. Temple was with me, and he helped me back 
here to the path. Then we went home." 

“ And what does he think on’t? Or don’t he say? He 
don’t look likely to be scare’t at his shadder. Looks 
pretty shrewd, I say." 

This was spoken so loud that Philip accepted it as an 
undoubted compliment. He came toward them: he had 
something in his hand. 4 

“ Here’s a horse-shoe, which I found yonder," he said. 

Pice took it, examined it critically, and then exclaimed: 

“ That came off mv horse’s left fore-foot, sure’s I live. 
There’s where I filed it, t’other day, ’cause it got word 
so one-sided. You’ve got sharp eyes, mister, if it isn’t 
rude to say it." 

“ The shoe lay upon a flat rock. There were no tracks 
near it. Possibly your horse has taken wings. I can’t 
account for the absence of tracks in any other way,” 
Temple said. 

“ I’ve seen a horse-j#y," Jim Pice declared, with a 
shrewd wink at J ason, and a strong emphasis upon the 
last word of the compound. The laugh with which he 
greeted his own wit would have betrayed the joke, even 
if it had not been too time-honored to create surprise on 
the part of Philip. 

“ Excuse my joke — J arson knows I’m always poking 


76 


VAIN, MALICIOUS MOCKERY. 


fun,” said the man, apologetically. At the same time 
he suddenly sobered. “ Yonder comes somebody — she’s 
beckoning to — you, Mr. Temple! ” he exclaimed. 

Philip looked in the direction indicated, and saw Tracy 
Boynton a short distance down the path. She was beck- 
oning to him, as Jim Rice had said. 


fancy’s fond suggestion 


77 

CHAPTER XIII. 

fancy’s fond suggestion. 

** My soul to fancy's fond surcsestion yields, 

And roams romantic o'er her airy fields.” 

— Byron, 

As Philip advanced he saw that Mrs. Boynton was not 
alone. Lou Wentworth had stepped out of the path to 
gather a tuft of peculiar moss which had caught her eye. 

“ What has happened? ” he asked, a trifle alarmed, for 
Tracy’s countenance was somewhat pale. 

“ Nothing serious — to me, at least,” she replied, with 
a reassuring smile. “ But an accident happened to Mr. 
Stacy, a member of the fishing-party with whom Chester 
went yesterday,” she continued. 

“An accident — serious?” Philip asked. 

u Rather, to him. It might have been to them all. 
They went with a team, you remember — there were four 
of them. The place is some ten miles from here, and over a 
rough, somewhat lonely road. As they were starting upon 
their return, their horse had a fit, or something, and ran 
them over an embankment. They were all considerably 
bruised, except Chester. He is always fortunate, and 
escaped without a scratch. And Mr. Stacy broke a leg, 
and was carried to a house near by. It is a lonely place, 
and only an old man and a lame boy live there. So 
Chester stayed at the house with Stacy, while the others 
took the man’s horse and came on to the village for the 
doctor, and thence to the hotel. Chester sent word that 
he should stop with Stacy for a few days, and for you and 
me to come and keep him company. He says it would 
be shabby to leave Mr. Stacy among total strangers — 
they say, you know, that he hasn’t a living relation in 
the world — and that we can amuse ourselves there for a 
few days as well as here. It will be genuine rusticating, 
you see.” 


78 


FANCY S FOND SUGGESTION. 


Mrs. Boynton told her story rapidly, and uninter- 
ruptedly 

u And Mr. Boynton sent for me to come ? ” Philip 
questioned. 

“ Yes — he was very particular about that. So you 
see he has taken a fancy to you, after ail ! Y ou will go V 9 

“ Of course. I shall not refuse to act the good Sa- 
maritan. And when do we start ? ” 

“ Eight away, or as soon as w r e can get ready. It 
won’t make any difference with the Webbs, will it? ” 

“ I think not. I’ve paid a week’s board in advance, 
so they’ll be nothing out of pocket, at any rate.” Re 
hesitated, and then laughed. 

“ But this is rather a sudden change of base,” he ex- 
claimed. “ Such changes are always coming to me, and 
they doubtless always will. I’m the son of mystery and 
romance.’’ 

Re went back to acquaint his host of his new plans, 
and then returned to the ladies, 

“ I will go to the cottage to make a few preparations,” 
he said. 

“ We w T ill call for you as we come along,” Lou de- 
clared. “And mind,’’ she said, shaking her forefinger 
in solemn emphasis, “if you are not ready when we 
come along we shall go on and leave you.” 

“And who, pray, are ‘ we ’ ? ” Philip questioned. 

“ Eoy Blanchard and Lou are to go with us, of course,” 
Tracy replied. 

“ I shall be ready and waiting for you long before you 
arrive,” said Temple, raising his hat and turning away. 

“ We’ll investigate this mystery in a few days — I won’t 
abandon it, you may be sure,” he said, to Jason, as he 
passed the latter, who was still discussing with Bice the 
subject of the missing horse. 

fhilip made his preparations for departure with a zest 
that was strangely keen. The depression under which 
he had labored the night before had entirely disappeared; 
and when the open beach-wagon, containing Eoy, Lou 


fancy’s fond suggestion. 


79 


and Mrs. Boynton appeared, he had been impatiently 
waiting for half an hour. 

To drive over a country road upon a cool, moist morn- 
ing, with the sunshine, sylvan shade and bird -melody all 
around, is to enjoy life in all its sweetness and beauty. 
And when charming, vivacious company is added, what 
more can be desired? 

The horse was a great, clumsy animal, with limbs like 
small logs of wood, and nearly as stiff, and they lum- 
bered over the crooked road at a monotonously measured 
pace. Boy applied the whip, and used all the persuasive 
eloquence at liis command, in the hope to induce a little 
quicker pace upon the level portions of the road. 

But language and whip were alike unappreciated by 
the beast. 

“It is no use — it will be broad noon before we shall 
get to our destination,” Boy exclaimed, in despair. 

“Chester will think we’ve wandered from the right 
road,” Tracy remarked. 

“Or that we’re not coming at all,” suggested Lou. 
And yet it was plain that she was not very unhappy, for 
she had insisted upon sitting with Boy on the front seat, 
and her face was fairly radiant with pleasure. 

Philip sat in silence, occasionally glancing into the 
face of Mrs Boynton It was very pleasant to have her 
so near him, and he permitted himself to indulge in the 
contemplation of fanciful impossibilities. Had he not 
come into a new existence, which was to permit him to 
remain always by the side of this, the only woman he 
ever loved? 

If it should only turn out, in some impossible way, 
that she were Tracy Sherman still, and that they were 
lovers, living in a dream, as of old! 

He gazed idly at the green trees and rocky pastures 
as they passed them, and permitted his fancies to run 
riot. All the while Lou and Boy were chatting, 
exchanging flashes of wit. Yet he could not have told 
a word spoken by either of them. Their speech was as 


80 


fancy’s fond suggestion. 


meaningless as tlie twitter of birds and murmur of 
brooks. The earlier absurd fancies passed, and uncon- 
sciously others took their place. What if Tracy were 
Chester Boynton’s wife? Could they not be lovers still? 
Marriage is a thing of earth; love is from heaven. Shall 
the lower triumph over, and crush out, the higher? Can 
any laws of man’s making coniine, or circumscribe the 
higher, sweeter laws of Cod? Can he not love Tracy 
Boynton, if he wills it — and may she not love him, if 
her heart so prompts? Would not her marriage to 
Chester Boynton be the error of which she is guilty, 
rather than in obeying the truer, but later promptings of 
her heart? Somehow, Philip constantly thought of them 
as unhappy together. He could not analyze his convic- 
tion; yet it was none the less strong. It was not a wise 
match. They were unsuited to each other. She was 
imaginative, artistic, vivacious, impulsive. Mr. Boynton 
was practical, analytical, cool, and lacking in those liner 
perceptions that characterized his beautiful wife. It was 
an unwise choice in both; both were unhappy, and their 
discontent would increase as the years passed. How 
monstrous that Tracy should be unhappy all her life - 
time with this man, when he could have rendered her 
existence one long, sweet dream. 

All this, and much more flitted through the brain of 
Philip Temple. It is doubtful if he realized the true 
character of his own reflections. Perhaps he only in- 
dulged them, as we are all too prone to indulge wild, 
wanton fancies — without thinking that they were dan- 
gerous, like the delicious intoxications of hasheesh. We 
believe that the true secret of living uprightly lies in the 
habit of control and training of one’s own imagination. 
Men think of wrong doing — permit their idle thoughts to 
linger upon sinful possibilities which they have no 
thought of ever realizing, and thus is the soul’s integrity 
lost. The temptation comes; the dream becomes a real- 
ity; and at last the world knows what God has known all 


fancy’s fond suggestion. 


81 


along — that he who was thought to be good, was really 
evil. 

Once or twice Tracy spoke, and then Philip responded, 
and idle remarks were exchanged. Yet these did not in- 
terrupt the train of his own reflections. They ran on 
and on, unmindful of time and distance. 

Put he was aroused at last — in a rather startling 
manner. The vehicle came abruptly to a halt, and Hoy 
Blanchard spoke. 

“ I’m going to find out where we are before we go an- 
other yard ! ” lie exclaimed. 

They were at a narrow point of the road, and before 
them lay a steep hill. In truth, the way had constantly 
grown more hilly, and the road less frequented in appear- 
ance as they proceeded. 

But here was a house. A small, wood-colored dwell- 
ing, with a big barn close by, and a flock of turkeys 
chattering and gobbling in the yard. 

“On the wrong road, are we?” Philip exclaimed, 
aroused from his reverie. 

Mrs. Boynton started, and glanced at him in a half be- 
wildered fashion. Of what nad she been thinking? he 
asked himself. 

“ We’ve been on the road for about three hours,” Roy 
declared, deliberately alighting from the vehicle. 

“ It is now nearly one o’clock p. m.,” he added, glanc- 
ing at his watch, “ and we ought to have walked the dis- 
tance in two hours.” 

“I know we’re lost!” Lou exclaimed, in ludicrous dis- 
may. Her blue eyes looked from face to face of her com • 
panions. 

“We shall have a delightful time finding each other, 
at any rate,” laughed Roy. 

“ What I’m thinking of,” he continued, “ is the possi- 
bility of losing my dinner This country style of eating 
has got me in a terrible condition, and if I don’t have 
dinner promptly at twelve meridian I feel as though I 
was friendless, as it were. 

6 


82 


fancy’s fond suggestion. 


“ There are lots of "blueberries beside the road,” Lou 
declared, as though she were figuring upon the possibility 
of their being compelled to subsist upon this diminutive 
fruit for an indefinite length of time. 

“ Horse-chestnuts, too, — only they’re not ripe,” Mrs. 
Boynton demurely suggested. 

“ They aren’t good to eat, are they?” Lou seriously 
returned. 

“ They are good for horses, I suppose. At least, it is 
said they used to grind the nuts for them, years ago.” 
This piece of information came from Philip. 

At this moment they espied a man in shirt-sleeves 
coming down from the barn. 

Boy greeted him with something of a flourish. 

“ This is not Mr. Gridley — is it? ” he questioned, defer- 
entially. 

“ Hope not,” the man retorted, with some vehemence. 

“ D’ye think 1 looked like him ? ” he demanded, with 
a grimace; “ ’cause if you did, I’d go straight and shoot 
myself, sure’s I live.” 

It was evident that Boy’s suggestion was taken as an 
insult by the man in shirt-sleeves. Gridley was the 
name of the one to whose dwelling the unfortunate 
Stacy was taken, and hence it was his dwelling of which 
our friends were in quest. 

“ I beg your pardon,” Boy hastened to say, I never 
saw Mr. Gridley, and consequently could not have mis- 
taken you for him. But it is his house which we wish 
to find. I infer that you know where he lives ?” 

The man laughed loudly, slapping his knees with his 
hands in the excessiveness of his mirth. 

“ Why, man! ” he exclaimed, controling himself, “ you 
ain’t within eight mild of Gridley’s! Ho, ho! This 
here ain’t the right road, and you’re headed in the wrong 
direction.” 

Boy and Lou, and Philip and Tracy looked at each 
other in consternation. 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


CHAPTER XI Y. 

THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 

“But who can turn the stream of destiny?” 

—Spenser. 

“ We’re almost as far from our destination as we were 
when we started,” Miss Wentworth exclaimed, breaking 
the dismayed pause. 

“And no prospect of dinner,” supplemented Roy, 
feebly. 

“ Perhaps this man ‘ puts up ’ in such an emergency 
as this,” Philip suggested, but not audibly to the possi- 
ble host. 

“Are we sure that it would not be a greater misfortune 
to us if he should consent to feed us, than if he refused?” 
Tracy inquired, glancing critically at the man’s shirt- 
sleeves, which w^ere not of the whitest. The object of 
this discussion slouched nearer, evidently suspicious that 
he was entitled to know what they were saying. 

“ How far are we from the hotel on the mountain — 
the Yinton Retreat, as it is called?” Roy questioned. 

“From there, be ye?” the man returned, eyeing them 
with new interest. 

“ City boarders, eh?” he added. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Lot of ’em stopping there, I hear. The man that 
runs the place, Caleb Yinton, lived in the house yonder 
when he was a boy. How he’s rich — made his money 
off city chaps like you, I expect.” There was unmis- 
takable spite in this declaration. There was a pause. 
“You wanted to know how fur ’tis from here to Yin- 
ton’s?” he said, as though it had but just occurred to 
him that he had been asked a question. 

“ I had some curiosity to know how far we had trav- 
eled,” Roy replied. 

“ Fifteen mild, 1 call it. Some say it’s sixteen That 


84 : 


THE STREAM OF DESTINT. 


hoss’ll never take yon back there ’thout resting up a bit. 
Pretty good load, four on ye, though the wimmen are 
light, I should say. Married folks, be ye?” 

“ Yes.” Hoy uttered the falsehood with a brazen face, 
and refused to see the energetic pantomime of Lou 
"Wentworth, or her furious frowns. 

“ I don’t see but we shall have to ask you to accommo- 
date us with a lunch, and a little feed for our horse, 
Mr. 1 forget your name?” 

“Massy sakes! — I couldn’t do it — my woman, you 
know — not prepared — bate yer horse, but — ” 

The man’s remonstrance was all dasheSj and he began 
stepping about as though excessively flustered. 

But with an assumption of deafness, Roy turned to 
the wagon and reached up his arms to assist Lou to 
alight. 

“ He says he can’t accommodate us,” she exclaimed, 
drawing back. 

“ He’ll think better of it when Mr. Temple and I show 
our pocket-books,” Roy replied, with provoking gravity. 
Philip had alighted, and was assisting Tracy to do so. 
Therefore Lou had to drown her scruples and yield to the 
inevitable. 

The farmer, seeing there was no escape, hastened 
toward the house to vrarn his “ woman ” — for some 
reason countrymen of his stamp seem to have a stubborn 
antipathy to the term wife, when speaking of their better- 
halves. We wonder why? 

Roy led the horse toward the big barn before alluded 
to. Philip followed the vehicle, intent upon rendering 
assistance in putting up the horse. Tracy and Lou 
moved with faltering steps toward the house. 

Mr. Skelton, which proved later to be the name of 
their involuntary host, presently appeared, and hustled 
toward them. 

“ Go right into the house,” he exclaimed, hospitably. 
“My woman’ll see to ye. Make yourselves to home. 
We’re poor folks, and don’t often have a chance to enter 


THE STREAM OP DESTINY. 


85 


tain grand people, but we’ll do tlie best we can. My 
woman says you’ll have to put up with the best we’ve 
got, and call it good enough.” 

They complied with his invitation without hesitation. 
At the door they were met by a stout, red-faced Woman, 
whose eyes were small and blinked very rapidly, as 
though she were afraid of getting dust into them. Her 
hair was in a “ pug,” and decidedly frowzy about her 
forehead; and the calico gown which she wore was faded 
to a most uncertain hue and figure. 

Tracy and Lou were ushered into a meagerly furnished 
room, which, however, was evidently the best in the 
house. The walls were adorned by colored lithographs 
in square frames ; and the apartment was pervaded by a 
musty odor, as though it were kept closed to air and sun- 
light except upon special occasions, like the present. 

Mrs. Skelton rather hastily disposed of shade-hats and 
Wraps, and then precipitately tumbled photograph albums 
and stereoscopic views into the laps of her guests. 

“ You can be lookin’ them over while I’m gettin’ din- 
ner,” she declared, and in another moment, like a mist, 
she had vanished. 

It turned out that, in stopping at this house for enter- 
tainment, they had not been wholly unfortunate. The 
dinner, promiscuously served though it was, was abund- 
ant and wholesome. 

“ Treat ye rather better at this time of year than if 
you’d come in on us sudden in dead of winter,” Mr. 
Skelton declared at the well-spread table, after his 
“ woman ” had made the customary excuses. “ Plenty of 
green sass in the garden helps along when a body don’t 
live nigh a village and market. My woman and I ’bout 
live on’t from the time it comes along till the frosts 
come.” 

The guests keenly enjoyed the novelty of the situation. 
The Skeltons, who had only been informed of Phillip’s 
and Roy’s names, addressed Tracy and Lou as Mrs. 
Temple and Mrs. Blanchard, which error could only be 


86 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


explained by declaring the falsity of Roy’s declaration. 

After all, what did it matter? “ It is as it should be! ” 
Philip reflected. He sat beside Mrs. Boynton at the 
table. The fancies which he had indulged during the 
long ride hither were resumed, although he frequently 
took part in the conversation. He glanced at Tracy 
more than once; and marked, with a thrill, that her pal- 
lor which he had noticed in the morning had disap- 
peared. 

Her face was daintily flushed now ; there was a new, 
happy light in her eyes ; and her laughter was sweeter 
and more joyous than ever before — it seemed. 

The evidence of her pleasure acted upon Philip Tem- 
ple’s senses like the stimulus of new wine. 

In the meanwhile a plan of procedure had been agreed 
upon. Mr. Skelton had volunteered to drive Roy and 
Lou back to the hotel with his team, while Philip and 
Tracy were to go on to Gridley’s with the horse which 
had brought them hither. 

“We can keep along together till we get to the road 
where you turn off,” Skelton declared. “ Prom there 
it’ll be a straight road, so you can’t miss your way.” 

This was addressed to Philip and Tracy. 

“ If you should miss your way, what would Mr. — ” 

Lou’s remark was cut short by a look from Roy. 

“ Don’t betray my duplicity at this late hour by men- 
tioning that she is going to see her husband,” he whis- 
pered, audibly only to Lou. “ For, he added, “ they’ll 
think then she has two husbands — mormonism reversed !” 

A deeper hue had mantled Mrs. Boynton’s face. Philip 
noticed that all she said, and her every action, were seem- 
ingly mechanical, as though her thoughts were deeply 
absorbed. 

It was well into the afternoon before they were once 
more upon the road. 

Mr. Skelton, with Roy and Lou led the way, with the 
open buggy and white horse belonging to the farmer. 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


87 


They reached the road which branched from the main 
highway, and where the two teams must separate. 

“ Keep straight ahead,” Skelton called back, as they 
halted for a moment at the junction of roads. “ It ain’t 
more’n five mild furder, mostly up-hill, though, git there 
by sundown. Remember, a red house with yellow blinds. 
Only one like it within ten mild, so ye can’t miss it, on- 
less ye shut your eyes. G’lang Sam!” The latter to the 
white horse; and with the silvery adieu of Lou and Tracy 
sounding upon the sweet, still air, the two vehicles sep- 
arated. And even the sound of the receding clatter of 
Skelton’s buggy soon died away as Philip and liis com- 
panion went further upon their divergent course. 

The first mile was passed in silence. Philip seemed 
occupied with driving; while Tracy watched the trees, 
and fields as they flitted by. It was a perfect day. The 
heat of the sun was tempered by a gentle, yet cool breeze 
from the northwest. There was a hum of insects in the 
air; the trees rustled and nodded as they passed; birds 
twittered and sang, in the same happy way which has 
been theirs for thousands of years. 

Tracy was first to speak. 

“ I fear Chester will be concerned about us,” she said. 

There was a nervous tremor in her sweet tones; yet 
the dainty tints upon her cheeks, and the happy light in 
her eyes had not disappeared. 

“ So you were thinking of hijn?” Philip questioned. 

The words were prompted by a sudden, jealous pang. 

“ It is time he was thought of, isn’t it?” 

He did not answer at once, and she added: 

“ To tell the truth, I have scarcely thought, until this 
moment, that he must greatly wonder at our non-appear- 
ance. I doubt not that he is worrying.” 

“ Then you have not been reflecting upon Mr. Boynton’s 
possible misery during your long silence?” Philip per- 
sisted. 

There was an eagerness in his tones that caused her to 
ook at him quickly. 


88 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


“ Why do you ask that?” she returned, again averting 
her face. 

“ Because I noticed that you have seemed in profound 
thought all the while.” 

“ My thoughts have not been so profound as they ap- 
pear, perhaps,” she replied. 

“ They were certainly absorbing in their nature — like 
mine.” 

“Like yours?” 

She glanced at him quickly again, coloring. 

“ Yes, like mine,” he persisted. They were at the base 
of a long, steep hill, which the horse began to ascend with 
slow reluctance. There was a small stream at this point, 
spanned by a narrow bridge. The brook was swollen in 
volume from the recent rains, and a small, level tract of 
land upon each side of the road was flooded. A little 
later this fact was recalled by Philip with significance; 
but now his attention was absorbed by other thoughts. 

“Then you have been in a reverie?” she asked, 
curiously. 

“ Yes, ever since we started this morning. It was 
more of a dream than a reverie, however, for it was full 
of strange, impossible fancies.” 

The horse moved very slowly up the slope. But neither 
of them noticed the fact. Tracy’s solicitude for her hus- 
band’s ease of mind seemed to have been forgotten. Or 
perhaps it did not occur to her that a better speed was 
possible. 

“ Aren’t we too mature to indulge fancies which are 
impossible of fulfillment?” Tracy questioned. 

“ I suppose we are. But we are never satisfied with 
anything short of the goal we have hoped and prayed 
for.” 

“ Then you have been thinking of unfulfilled hopes?” 

“ Yes. And you?” 

She felt that he was looking at her now, and the con- 
sciousness of his scrutiny caused her eyes to droop. 

“None of us can expect the full fruition of our 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


89 


hopes,” she said. Her voice was very low; there was a 
trace of suppressed emotion in its tones. 

“Why not?” he returned. She did not speak. A 
thrush by the roadside broke in with its sweet song. A 
moment later he asked again : 

“Why not — so far as this life is concerned, I mean?” 
lie exclaimed. 

“ I do not understand your meaning, I think.” 

“ I mean, that everything in the world is ours. If we 
are not successful in life, it is by our faults, or indolence. 
If we were only unfailing in judgment, we might win all 
that we strive for. It is our errors that cost us the 
fruition of our hopes. All things are possible when we 
begin; it is our mistakes that make them impossible.” 

“ That is true,” she said. 

“ Then why may we not expect what we may attain?” 
he continued. 

“ We are not begining life now,” she replied. 

He made an impatient gesture. 

“ That is true with me — I have never begun to live,” 
he exclaimed, his voice low with suppressed feeling. 

“ You haven’t begun? ” 

She looked straight into his face as she . asked this. 
The expression there startled her, and again she fixed her 
gaze upon the distant landscape. 

“Ho, I have not begun to live,” he persisted, in the 
same low, passionate tones. “ I thought I had done so 
once — five years ago. But it was a false beginning. Fate 
interposed, and all I had gained worth living for was 
snatched away.” 

There was an interval of silence. Philip’s pulses beat 
tumultuously. Why was lie saying this to Tracy Boyn- 
ton, he asked himself. He did not desire her sympathy 
in a misfortune of which she had been the cause. He 
did not wish her to apologize for marrying Chester Boyn- 
ton instead of himself. Such expression from her would 
have offended him, rather than otherwise. 


90 


THE STREAM OF DESTINY. 


Then why did he speak thus? Was it to test her? to 
see if she had regrets? 

He half expected an indignant response from her. He 
had said what he had no right to say under the circum- 
stances, and she should have rebuked him for doing so. 
Yet she did not. She was silent for several moments — 
suspenseful moments to him. 

Then she said, speaking slowly: 

“ Perhaps fate was more kind to you than — ” 

He hastened to till the pause. 

“Than to you?” he breathlessly exclaimed. 

She faced him then, mingled pain, rebuke, pleading, 
expressed in her eyes, and upon her quivering lips. 

“You have no right to say that!” she cried. She 
seemed on the point of saying more, but repressed the 
impulse. 

They were at the top of the hill. Before them lay a 
steep descent. Philip, involuntarily glancing down the 
slope, and uttered an ejaculation of dismay. 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


a* 


CHAPTEK XV. 

A THOUSAND FEARS. 

e ‘ She ’gan to cast in her misdoubtful mind 
A thousand fears 1” 

Spenser. 

The highway, wherever the slopes were steep, had been 
badly gullied by the rains. The rain of the previous night, 
succeeding that of the day and night before, had aggre- 
gated a remarkably heavy fall. 

JBut it was not the prominent pebbles and gullies which 
caused Philip Temple to draw the horse to a halt upon 
the brow of the hill, and utter that exclamation of dis- 
may. 

Below lay a broad meadow, which was now overflowed 
as far as it was visible to the eye. And at the base of 
the hill a river crossed under the road. There had been, 
or ought to have been, a bridge, but none was there. The 
stone abutments were there. There were a few timbers, 
held in place doubtless by strong spikes. But between the 
abutments, dividing the road, yawned a broad chasm, 
through which hurried the black river, risen almost to the 
level of the road itself. 

There was no mistaking the situation. The bridge had 
been carried away since it was crossed by Boynton’s com- 
panions the night before. To cross now were an utter 
impossibility. 

“ Why do you stop? ” Tracy demanded. She had not 
noticed the barrier at the foot of the hill. 

“ Look below,” Temple replied, pointing toward the 
bridgeless river. 

“ The bridge — washed away! ” she cried. 

“ Evidently.” 

u But how are we to cross? ” 

“ That is a problem which I would like to be spared 
the responsibility of solving.” 


A THOUSAND FEARS* 




“We must cross — in some way. We must! ” 

Her utterance seemed prompted by an impulse akin 
to apprehension. 

Philip experienced a sense of contrition. He realized 
that his recent language had been equivocal; that it may 
have been interpreted by his companion to have meant 
more than he had intended. And in consequence she 
was now half afraid of him. He had, in a measure, for- 
feited her confidence. 

The realization cost him a keen pang. How could he 
prove to her that he held her honor, the purity of her 
soul, dearer than his own life? There were no terms in 
which he could fitly express his feeling. He could only 
strive to regain what he had lost by falling back upon 
the genuine chivalrous frankness of his nature. 

There is nothing so efficacious for dispelling faint dis- 
trust as a change of tone, from seriousness, with its dan- 
ger, to humor. There is a relief in the change, too, 
which is helpful to both. 

“We must cross, Mr. Temple,” Tracy reiterated, as 
her companion hesitated. 

Tie looked at her and smiled. “ So we must,” he re- 
plied. “ But,” he added, his smile broadening, “ we 
shall have to swim to do so! There’s no other possible 
way, because the chasm is too broad to leap across.” 

She compressed her lips ; then covered her face with 
her hands. 

“Oh! what shall we do?” she cried. She almost 
sobbed the appeal. 

Philip started the horse, and they slowly descended 
the hill. It was necessary to go slowly, because, at that 
point, the highway was washed more dangerously than 
at any other over which they had passed. 

They reached the base of the slope ; they once more 
halted, this time close to the brink. The horse, sober 
animal though he was, snorted and put back his ears at 
sight of the black, eddying current, and its swishing 
sound as it chafed its narrow bounds. 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


93 


“It looks as though they were going to begin repairs 
at once,” Philip remarked, as he glanced across the 
stream. For there, piled near the opening, was a load 
of plank, and several heavy timbers. They were all new; 
they had been placed there since the rain. 

“ But there is no one at work upon it,” Tracy returned. 

“ They have probably gone back for more lumber.” 

“There is no telling when they may return.” 

“I suppose not. But it is evident that this is an 
important road, and doubtless a temporary bridge will be 
immediately built. If the workmen were only here it 
wouldn’t take them long to fix it so that we could get 
across, horse and all. The animal is trusty, and would 
cross a pretty shaky affair with a man at his head.” 

They were silent a moment. Then Philip alighted 
and went to the edge of the bank. Then he listened. 

“I believe I can hear wagon coming now,” he de- 
clared. 

“ If they would only place a plank across, I would go 
over on that, and walk the rest of the distance,” Tracy 
returned, with feverish eagerness. 

“You could not do that alone,” he replied. 

“Why not?” 

“It would not be prudent, upon this lonely road. We 
can do no better than to wait. If no one comes to fix 
the bridge we will go back to the house which we passed 
a while ago.” 

“We might return to the hotel. That would be better 
than to stop at a strange house.” 

“Better, if we could get there. But this horse is 
pretty jaded already. It is seven or eight miles to the 
Ketreat, and even if the horse could traverse the distance, 
we should go so slowly that it would be long after night- 
fall wdien we should arrive. That is out of the ques- 
tion.” 

She was silent again. Her distress could not be 
concealed. Up to the present she had evinced no eager- 
ness to reach their destination. But of a sudden, upon 


94 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


discovery of the barrier to their progress, she seemed to 
have grown intensely, painfully anxious. 

“ Why don’t they come ?” she impatiently exclaimed, 
after another brief silent interval. 

Temple was still listening. Again he caught a faint 
rumble, as of an approaching heavy wagon. But it 
ceased again, and he half feared it was all but a freak of 
his own imagination. 

He glanced upward at the sky. It was clear and serene. 
At least, there was no danger of the additional discomfort 
of a sudden storm assailing them. 

“ Do you hear it? ” Tracy asked, watching his face fur- 
tively. 

“ I did, a moment ago.” 

“ Isn’t it upon another road ! ” 

“ There is none near enough for the sound to reach us.” 

“ It may not have been a wagon that you heard.” 

He laughed, to cheer her from the strained anxiety into 
which she was sinking more deeply ever moment. 

“ Don’t be so hopeless,” he implored. “ This isn’t the 
wors'; of all possible situations. Suppose it had happened 
upon a sultry day, and a thunder storm came upon us? 
Or, what if we were twenty miles from human habita- 
tion ; or there were wolves and bears to attack us ; or sav- 
ages concealed behind yonder trees, coveting our scalps?” 

She shivered, and then laughed, in a nervous, hysterical 
way. 

“ Don’t speak of those dreadful possibilities,” she cried. 

“ I will not. I was only drawing a dark picture, that 
you might look upon our situation less woefully. We’re 
not very badly off. We can go to a house in twenty min- 
utes.” 

“ But Chester — he will worry. It is of him that I’m 
thinking.” 

“ He may not worry at all. He will suppose that four 
of us started together, if we started at all ; and if we do 
not arrive he will know that something detained us. If 
it was anything serious he will expect to be informed. If 


A THOUSAND FEARS 


95 


you were ill, or injured, word would be gotten to him 
somehow. You say he is cool and practical. What 
would concern you will not disturb him. lie will laugh 
at our adventure when he comes to hear of it. We can 
laugh at it now. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be any- 
thing for us to do except to laugh.” 

Mrs. Boynton seemed somewhat relieved by her com- 
panion’s cheerfulness. It might have been his lightness 
of demeanor, which most relieved her anxiety, however. 
It dispelled that sense of vague, nameless danger which 
his words inspired a short time before. 

The sun was sinking toward the horizon. Already 
long shadows were creeping across the road, growing 
longer and darker as the moments passed. 

At last Philip spoke again. 

“We had better go back,” he said. 

“Whither?” 

“ To the house which we passed.” 

“ And give up crossing to-night? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What if the people should refuse to keep us over 
night?” 

“ They would not turn us out doors.” 

“ But we know nothing of their character. 

“And they know nothing of ours — so we shall be even 
on that score.” 

He began backing the horse around. As he did so, 
Tracv exclaimed: 

“ Hark! ” 

They listened. 

This time there was no mistaking it. A wagon was 
approaching — a heavy loaded wagon, as was indicated by 
the slow, ponderous rumble. 

“ It is coming this time, sure,” they exclaimed in a 
breath. In another moment the wagon came into view, 
and drew up upon the opposite side of the chasm. 

It was drawn by a yoke of oxen — hence the slowness of 


96 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


its approach. It was loaded with timber for the bridge, 
and half a dozen men accompanied it. 

The men flung off their coats and began deliberately to 
unload. 

“Halloo!” shouted Philip, approaching the banks of 
the stream. 

The men heard his shout; one of them came forward; 
a tall, raw-boned man, with bushy, red whiskers. 

“ What yer want?” he demanded, staring at the young 
man, as though the latter were a curious animal escaped 
from a menagerie. 

“We want to get across,” Temple replied. 

“Why don’t ye, then?” the other retorted, with inso- 
lent humor. 

“ I have a lady with me,” Philip explained, with un- 
relaxed dignity of demeanor, “ and it is imperative that 
she should cross. If you are going to build a tempo- 
rary bridge, we will wait. If not, we will make some 
other arrangement.” 

There was a space of silence. The men had all ceased 
work. Some of them were exchanging comments in an 
undertone. 

“ Wliat do you say?” Philip demanded, impatiently. 

“ You can wait,” the man replied. 

“Are you going to build a bridge to-niglit?” 

“ We’re goin’ to try.” 

“ How long will it take you to get it so that I can lead 
my horse over?” 

“ Stiddy ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ ’N hour or so. Twon’t take long, I guess. We was 
goin’ to build a bridge that would stay, bet’wixt this and 
to-morrow rnornin’. This ’ere town don’t build tempo- 
rary ’fairs. Got sick of it. We’ll work all night, and by 
daylight there’ll be a bridge here that you could drive a 
steam engine over. Twon’t take long to rig up suthin’ 
so’s you can git acrost.” 

The other men had resumed work, with some show of 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


97 


alacrity. Timbers were thrown across the chasm, and 
spiked into place. All the while the bushy whiskered 
man kept talking. 

“ Don’t pay to put up no temporary bridges,” he de- 
clared, as though in response to an assertion that it did 
pay. 

“ A temporary bridge has got to be safe; and you might 
as well make it a good one while you’re about it. This 
road has got to be used every day. Main turnpike, you 
see. If this bridge wa’n’t built before to-morrow night 
the devil would be to pay. Beggin’ the lady’s pardon for 
what may sound like swearin’!” 

He need not have apologized, for Mrs. Boynton did 
not hear the “ swearin’ ” nor any other part of his re- 
marks, except so far as they concerned their immediate 
needs. 

The sun sank behind the hills. Twilight was settling 
upon the scene, and the river, creeping with such swift 
stealth between its narrow bounds, had grown inky in its 
blackness. 

The shadows were now black, also; and the forms of 
the men busy upon the bridge, grew grotesque to the 
vision. 

Lanterns were lighted, to enable them to go on with 
their work ; and gradually the white moonlight made itself 
visble, casting a strange witchery over the scene. 

Tracy alighted from the vehicle, and walked to and 
fro with her companion, watching the men at their work, 
the twinkling lights, the prismatic reflections upon the 
water’s surface, the white, changeful moonlight, the 
wavering shadows. 

But very few words passed between them. 

The scene was strangely bewitching; a scene, and the 
associations of which, was to linger in their memories 
with peculiar vividness. They little thought how bitter 
that memory was to become. 

Philip’s fancies were again stimulated; but he did not 
them as he had done before. 


indulge 


98 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


“ I was mistaken in her, after all!” he reflected. “ She 
loves her husband better than I thought. And yet — ” 

He recalled her hesitancy; her failure to resent 
promptly what he had said; her failure to declare, with 
warmth, that the fruition of her hopes had come to her 
as the wife of the man she loved. She had not said that. 
Her manner and responses were vaguely equivocal. The 
question yet remained unanswered. There was still 
cause to suspect that she was unhappy — disappointed. 
That she, too, had indulged vain regrets. 

The process of reasoning was simple, and everything 
seemed to conspire toward a flattering conclusion — flat- 
tering to the dreams which Philip had been indulging. 
The moonlight, with its witching influence; the presence 
of Tracy, stimulating his love for her. For Temple, in 
his own heart, had many times confessed that he did love 
Tracy Boynton, as he had loved Tracy Sherman. How 
could it be otherwise, he reasoned, when he had loved her 
before her marriage, unless his heart were fickle? He 
admitted that he had no right to evince his regard; but 
what law could root out the deepest impulses his heart 
had ever known? 

“ Might come over now if you’re in a hurry,” an- 
nounced one of the laborers, breaking in upon his reflec- 
tions. 

“ How quickly they have done the work,” Tracy ex- 
claimed. 

Philip glanced at his watch. The hour was nine 
o’clock. They had been at work nearly two hours upon 
the structure. Yet to Tracy the time had seemed short — 
a fact that proved still more conclusively that Philip’s 
fancies were not without foundation. At least, his so- 
ciety was agreeable to her ; for to gether the time flew 
swiftly, as it does upon the wings oi love. 

The horse and vehicle were led across the incomplete 
structure; Temple and his companion again mounted 
the seat; and a little later they drew up before a red 
house, with yellow blinds. 


A THOUSAND FEARS. 


99 


At the door Mrs. Boynton was met by her husband. 
He held a lamp in one hand; and by its dull glow she 
saw a fierce frown upon his countenance, such as she had 
never seen there before. 

“ So you have come at last? ” he exclaimed, in a tone 
that was almost harsh in its coldness. 


100 


CHESTER S GREETING. 


CHAPTER XYL 


CHESTER S GREETING. 


“Every sullen frown and bitter scorn 
But fanned the fuel that too fast did burn.' 


—Dryden. 


To Chester Boynton’s greeting his wife made no re- 
sponse. He turned to enter, and she mutely followed. 
She was led to a large, low-ceiled chamber, whose meager 
furnishings and general dinginess bespoke the poverty 
of their host. 

Chester ushered her into the room, and then followed, 
closing the door behind them. She faced him then ; her 
cheeks were pale; her glance matching his in coldness. 

“Yes, I have come,” she then said, her voice trem- 
bling with half -repressed indignation. 

“I had about given you up,” he returned, with a 
slight smile which was more offending to her sensitive 
nature than his frown had been. 

“ Then you had some hope of seeing me again?” she 
asked, with fine scorn. 

“Very little, I confess. I see Mr. Blanchard and 
Miss Wentworth did not accompany you. Was it by 
their unwillingness or yours that they did not do so ?” 

“ They were willing.” 

The reply was slowly uttered. And no other expla- 
nation was vouchsafed. Mrs. Boynton saw the truth. 
Chester had already ^convicted her, in his heart, of a 
wrong which she believed herself incapable of commit- 
ting. Never before had she suspected that her husband 
were capable of jealousy. But it was plain that this 
11 m excited within him ; that 



Tracy’s sense of the wrong done her was keen. While 
she had feared that her husband would be concerned at 
her non-appearance, he had in reality been conjuring 
wild, maddening suspicions against her. He had not 


CHESTER S GREETING. 


101 


even asked if she had met with an accident; he had given 
her no opportunity for explanation ; he had only greeted 
in her that cold way which had unmistakably betrayed 
his distrust. 

The shock to the sensitive young wife was a bitter one. 
The sense of flagrant injustice shown Ailed her with in- 
tense indignation He had asked for no explanation; 
she stood condemned beforehand; and, under the im- 
pulse of that moment of passion, she resolved to with- 
hold from him the story of the day’s mishaps. 

“And you prevailed upon them not to obtrude?” he 
demanded, angered by the coolness of her responses. 

“ If it suits your mood to believe so, you are at lib- 
erty.” 

“ Tracy, what do you mean?” 

She sank breathlessly upon a chair; she had made no 
move toward removing her wraps. 

“ My meaning ought to be plain to you,” she replied. 

He was silent, and she added, hurriedly: 

‘‘You need not question me concerning the delay in 
my coming, because I shall not explain, xou would not 
credit anything which I might say, in your present 
mood. Besides, I feel that I owe you no excuses. The 
insult conveyed in your tones and looks absolves me from 
whatever sense of duty to you I have hitherto enter- 
tained. Bear in mind that this experience of mine shall 
not soon be forgotten. The love that goes hand in hand 
with distrust is not the love I crave, or wish to retain!” 

A bright flush had leaped into her face while she was 
speaking, relieving its pallor. Her voice was unsteady ; 
it was almost shrill in the intensity of her indignation. 
Yet there was a cold courtesy in her words that rendered 
their sting the more keen and lasting, for they did not 
seem to be the utterance of an angry impulse. 

Chester turned abruptly away, and seemed on the point 
of leaving her. But at the door he paused and looked 
back. lie had set the lamp upon a table; and as he 
stood near the door his face was thrown into shadow. 


102 


Chester’s greeting. 


“ Have I not the right to demand an explanation? ” he 
said, in a low, steady voice. 

“ You had the right,” she replied. 

“ It is still mine.” 

“Yes, you have the right to demand.” She paused, 
and then firmly added: “And I have the privilege of 
refusing.” 

The jealous husband flung up one hand with an angry 
gesture. 

“ You are my wife! ” he cried, raising his voice. 

“ Unfortunately for us both, I am.” 

As he grew more excited in speech, hers became 
calmer, upon that occasion, at least, she seemed the 
stronger character of the two. 

“Then you regret your choice?” he demanded. He 
seemed determined to render their alienation too great 
to admit of reconciliation. 

“ I have not said so,” she replied. 

“You intimated it.” 

“ Do you wish me say that I regret it?” 

“ If it is true, I had rather hear it from your lips than 
by other means.” 

“ Why must I be cross-examined in this way ? Why 
may I not demand a like declaration from you? ” 

“You have no reason to question the sincerity of my 
regard, Tracy.” 

“ Haven’t I? Are you quite sure? I haven’t an enemy 
in the world who would insult me as you have done to- 
night. Is that the measure of your sincerity? ” 

She smiled as she said this, and her smile added to the 
scorn of her tone. 

“ How have I insulted you? I have said nothing that 
I had not reason to say. I sent for you to come this 
morning; and I was generous enough to ask your former 
— I will not say present — lover to come with you. You 
fail to come when I expect you; the friends who were 
to accompany you also fail to appear; and when you ar- 
rive, it is at a late hour, and in company with the one 


Chester’s greeting. 


103 


whom I have good reason to suppose once possessed the 
warmest regard of your heart.” 

Mr. Boynton’s speech was usually rather deliberate. 
But then it was rapid, and his whole demeanor seemed 
to have undergone a startling transformation. 

Tracy rose to her feet, advanced a pace toward him, 
the color fleeing from her face and leaving it white as 
marble. 

“ Who told you that he was ever my — my lover? ” she 
demanded, her tones husky with eagerness. 

Chester smiled this time somewhat exultantly. 

“ I have friends who are unwilling to have me de- 
ceived,” he answered. 

“Who told you, Chester Boynton? I demand to 
know ! ” 

“ It is your turn to demand, it seems. It is mine to 
refuse. I am too grateful for my friend’s warning to 
betray his or her personality.” 

She did not speak immediately and he continued: 

“ Let it suffice that the source of my information is 
trustworthy. And if it were not your looks at this 
moment would confirm it. You were once the betrothed 
'wife of Philip Temple — or at least, he supposed you to 
be such. It was by a mere chance that you were sepa- 
rated. By a mere chance you are now brought together. 
Therefore, what had 1 reason to expect? Yet I believed 
that you really cared for me; that you had self respect 
sufficient to silence or prevent gossip. But you have not 
done so. I accuse you of nothing worse than a show of 
sentiment toward a former lover. But your conduct, and 
the position into which you have allowed yourself to be 
drawn to-night is sufficient to tarnish your name and 
mine. Frankness upon your part might have brightened 
the shadow, and dispelled my suspicions, at least. But 
your refusal to explain leaves me to infer what I please.” 

Once more Tracy sank upon a chair. For a moment 
she covered her face with her hands, and he could see 
that her form shook with emotion. 


104 


CHESTER o GREETING. 


Yet, when she again looked at him, it was plain that 
she had not been weeping. 

“ I was not aware before that I had enemies spying 
upon me,” she exclaimed. 

“ You should not have hoped to keep the secret of your 
former relations with Philip Temple from my knowl- 
edge,” Boynton returned. 

“ Had you asked me for my confidence in such matters 
I should not have withheld it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“ Quite sure.” 

“ I did not ask for it. I trusted you fully.” 

“ You trusted me, as a stranger not as a husband 
should do. Your confidence is upset by the first 
shadow.” 

“ It is not a small shadow, Tracy. Bemember, you 
refused, a moment ago, to explain.” 

“ You asked for no explanation. You condemned me 
without one, as I have said.” 

There was a moment of silence. Then, in an altered 
tone, full of courteous coldness, Tracy asked: 

“In our quarrel I have forgotten to inquire after your 
unfortunate friend, Mr. Stacy. Is he doing well?” 

Chester compressed his lips. Never had his wife 
seemed so radiantly lovely as at this moment. He was 
assailed by a feeling that he had, perhaps, been too hasty, 
in his jealous frenzy. He was half impelled at this mo- 
ment to seek her pardon ; to take the first step toward re- 
conciliation. But pride, and jealous pangs which still 
clung to him, withheld the spontaneous outpouring of 
his really generous nature. “ I will wait, and see what 
comes of it all,” he mentally decided. “ I have reason to 
be suspicious; when she explains all, frankly as she ought, 
then I can acknowledge my error. It shall be according 
to her choice, not mine. She shall not be hampered by 
me.” 

Aloud, in reply to her question, he said: 

“ His limb was badly fractured, and I’m sorry to say 


Chester’s greeting. 


105 


that he is doing far from well. The delay in getting a 
surgeon allowed some inflammation to set in, and there are 
symptoms of fever. He has no nurse that the doctor can 
trust, and for a few days, at least, I shall take care of 
him. I shall sit up with him to-night.” 

“ I’m sorry he is so bad,” Tracy returned. She was 
quietly removing her hat and Newmarket, standing before 
the small mirror that hung over the old-fashioned wash- 
stand. An observer at the moment would not have sus- 
pected that there was pain, jealousy, indignation burning 
within their hearts. Or that there had heen a quarrel, 
such as ruin many lives had just been indulged. 

“ If you need my assistance, do not hesitate to call,” 
she added, with a quiet sincerity which could not be mis- 
taken. u I shall not need you to-night; to-morrow I may. 
And it is possible that Mr. Temple can relieve me to- 
morrow night.” 

He opened the door, but lingered for a moment upon 
the threshold, as though hoping something more might 
be said. But she did not again look at him. She went 
on arranging her hair before the glass. 

And he wheeled quickly and left her alone, the door 
closing between them with a bang. 


106 


THE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HEART OF WOMAN. 

“ Ah me ! How weak a thing 
The heart of woman is . 11 

—Julius Caesar. Act. 2, Scene iv. 

Tracy did not see Pliilip, nor her husband, again that 
night. 

A servant had been employed, at Stacy’s expense, to 
assist Gridley’s housekeeper. The house was ample in 
size, although its furnishings throughout were meager and 
out of date. 

Gridley himself was a man of sixty five, and it was 
plain that he was of miserly disposition. Indeed he 
seemed to rejoice that Mr. Stacy’s misfortune had 
brought him what he otherwise might have never ob- 
tained — several remunerative boarders. 

To his son, who was a cripple, undersized and old- 
looking, the miser said upon every favorable oppor- 
tunity: 

“ They’re rich city folks, and let ’em pay well for what 
they git, might as well come into our pockets as any- 
body’s, eh?” 

The youth would nod and grin affimatively. Yet it 
was doubtful if a copper cent of the proceeds ever found 
a resting place in his pocket. Perhaps, however, he felt 
that he was a sharer in the old man’s prosperity, in the lat- 
ter’s willingness to confide in him. 

“ We’ll make a good thing off of ’em afore the young 
chap gits well,” he would continue, rubbing the stumpy 
beard upon his chin with one yellow hand with measured 
emphasis. 

“ A bad break, the doctor says. Fever liable to set in. 
May be sick two months. That Boynton — generous chap, 
not a stingy hair about him — won’t desert his friend. 
Wife — pretty’s a picter — won’t leave him. And Mr. 
Temple won’t go while she stays. Clear enough that he 


TIIE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


107 


sets a heap by her, though she is another man’s wife. 
None of our business long as they pay well — eh, Simon?” 

Simon nodded and grinned again. This was his stereo- 
typed way of assenting to everything. And then he hob- 
bled away on his crutches, muttering to himself. 

This was spoken early the next evening after the ar- 
rival of Philip and Tracy. 

In the meanwhile Mr. Boynton had learned, in a casual 
remark on the part of Temple, of the destroyed bridge, 
and of the other delays which had caused them to be so 
long upon the road. But these explanations were not 
made to him. Philip supposed, then, that Tracy had 
explained to her husband, and therefore supposed that 
the details were not due from him. 

Yet, at the table at dinner and breakfast he became 
vaguely conscious that there was trouble between hus- 
band and wife. Not until early evening did he have a 
chance to speak with Tracy alone, although they had 
spoken freely together before the others during the day. 

The glow of another sunset rested upon the tree-tops, 
glinting the old house, tilling the windows with flame. 
Philip stood under a tree at a short distance from the 
dwelling. He heard a light, quick step near him, and 
turning, saw Tracy approaching. 

The day had been warmer than the previous one, and 
she had donned a dainty-figured lawn, that caused her to 
look more sweet and fairy -like than usual. 

“ I was looking for you,” she said, as she came up. 
At the same time a slight flush of embarrassment came 
into her cheeks. 

“Were you?” he returned, thrilled with pleasure. 

“Why not? I have hardly seen you to-day. And — 
I have something I wish to tell you.” 

Her tone faltered a little as she said this. He looked 
at her in vague surprise. 

“What is it? Something that troubles you?” he 
questioned. 


108 


TIIE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


“Have you spoken with Chester to-day?” she ab- 
ruptly asked. 

“Only casually.” 

“ Then he has said nothing to you ? ” 

“ Nothing of special note. In fact, I imagined that 
he tried to avoid me. He asked if I would take care of 
Mr. Stacy to-night — that is all that I remember.” 

“ I am glad lie has said nothing more,” she returned, 
with a sigh of relief. 

Her words only excited his curiosity. 

“What do you mean?” he questioned. 

She did not answer. He drew nearer, and looked 
earnestly down into her face. 

“ You have quarrelled again?” he said, in a very low 
tone. 

How did he know that they had ever quarreled? she 
asked herself. 

“A little,” she admitted, compressing her lips. 

“I was not the cause, I hope?” 

“No — not you, directly. He had no right to show 
you injustice. He was jealous — some one has been 
poisoning his mind against me. He knows that we were 
once — ” 

She hesitated, and he supplied, in a questioning tone: 

“ Lovers?” 

The word was lightly uttered ; but it sent a bright 
glow over her cheeks, rivaling that of the sunset. 

“Yes,” she answered. 

“Some one told him!” 

“Yes.” 

“ Do you know whom ? ” 

“No.” 

“ And does he refuse to tell you ? ” 

“ He does.” 

There was a pause. Philip Temple’s face clouded; 
there was a resentful flash in his blue eyes. 

“This is infamous!” he cried vehemently. 

She made no response, and he continued: 


THE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


109 


“So he is jealous of me! And was he — unkind ?” 

“Don’t ask me!” she cried, appealingly. 

There was another pause. 

Then Philip said, decisively: 

“I will go away.” 

“ No, no! ” she returned. 

“Why not?” 

“ I wish you to stay. Mr. Stacy needs you. You 
shall not be driven away like this. It will do no good 
for you to go. Our quarrel cannot be healed in that 
way. You are my friend, and his unreasoning jealousy 
shall not separate us, or make us as strangers. We are 
blameless — are we not?” 

She looked straight into his face as she asked the 
question. In a flash, he remembered the tenor of his 
rancies or dreams of the previous day. Was he blame- 
less? The question came to him with accusing force 
But there was a plausible answer ready. It is so easy 
for us to practice self-deception. It is so easy to arrive 
at a verdict of self -acquittal, no matter how strong the 
evidence presented to our own consciousness. 

“ Yes, we are blameless,” he answered, his voice shak 
ing. “No one can accuse us rightfully of an improper 
word or action. I may not be wholly innocent in one 
regard. I have allowed you to see that I have not for- 
gotten the past ; I have admitted that the love which I 
once had a right to avow had not been destroyed by the 
accidents of separation, and marriage. In letting you 
see this, I may have overstepped the bounds of propriety. 
But I could not have hidden the truth if I had attempted 
to do so, and perhaps frankness is better than unsuccess- 
ful concealment. If there is blame, as I say, it is mine.” 

Her eyes drooped ; the color had again faded from her 
face. 

“ You are too generous,” she said, almost inaudibly. 

“ How?” 

“ I, too, am open to blame.” 

“ I do not understand?” 


110 


THE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


“ It is better that we should misunderstand each 
other,” she exclaimed, hastily. 

The words thrilled him with a wild, overpowering con- 
viction. What might he not infer from her remark? 

He bent eagerly toward her; for an instant a question 
trembled upon his lips — a query prompted by his own 
overpowering love — yet, with strong self-control he sup- 
pressed it. If what he suspected were true, what right 
had he to take advantage of her confidence in him? 
Would there be aught gained if she were prevailed Upon 
to admit that, if she were free, she would return his 
love? That she did return it even now? 


In that moment of hesitation between passion and the 
generous, chivalrous instincts of his nature, Philip Tem- 
ple realized that in such an admission from her, if it 
were true, only a greater torture would be entailed to 
them both. If it were true, it were treason to utter it. 
It were a thousand times better unspoken. He drew 
back quickly. She had not seen the look upon his face, 
and it was well that she did not. 

“ I will go away, Mrs. Boynton,” he declared, with 
forced calmness. u It is better to remove all appearance 
of evil, and then your husband may regret his hasty 
judgment.” 

“ I don’t wish you to go,” she persisted. 

u I think it is wiser for us both.” 

“ It may be wiser for you. But I am selfish. If you 
go Chester will think I told you to do so, that his sus- 
picions might be allayed. He has been jealous without 
just cause. We will prove to him that our friendship is 
above reproach. My fair name is dear to me, as well as 
to him.” 


“ It is dear to me also,” Philip said, fervently. 

“ Then you will stay — for the present? ” 

“ If it is best. I will stay until to-morrow— until I 
have time to think.” 

“ You will stay — it is best,” she insisted, so eagerly 


THE HEART OF A WOMAN. 


Ill 


that he could not have refused then, had he wished to 
do so. 

They were silent again for a few moments. She turned 
to leave him, and then came back. 

“ One thing more,” she said hesitatingly. 

“ Anything you may ask.” 

** Chester may speak to you — that is reproachfully.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He may indulge in severe language, if he chance to 
give his passion rein.” 

u And if he should do so, how should you meet him?” 

“Just as you may direct.” 

“ Can you exercise self-control under strong provoca- 
tion ?” 

“ If need be. 5 * 

“ Then refuse to quarrel with him. Do not make re- 
torts to his angry remarks. Do not exasperate him 
further than he is at the beginning.” 

“ It shall be as you say, Mrs. Boynton. There shall be 
no quarrel betwixt your husband and me if I can avoid 
it. I will meet him with humility, or whatever may 
best assuage his anger.” 

u I can trust you, Mr. Temple. I wish he might com- 
prehend how noble you are!” 

She was moving away as she said this. He started to 
follow her, but suppressed the impulse, and returning to 
the tree, dung himself wearily upon the ground. He 
had scarcely done so before he hear . a sound, as of some 
one hobbling toward him. Turning, he saw Simon Grid- 
ley advancing, as fast as his crutches would carry him. 

The fellow was grinning, as was usual. He sank down 
to a crouching position, and fell to looking at Philip 
with furtive curiosity. 

“’Spose he 5 ll die?” the youth abruptly asked, in a 
thin, husky tone. 

“Yfliom?” Temple returned. 

“ Mr. Stacy?” 

u I hope not.” 


112 


THE HEART OF A WOMAN, 


“ Be you goin’ to stay here till he gets well ?” 

“ I dont’t know.” 

“ Stay ’slong as the Boyntons do, won’t ye?” 

“ I think not.” 

“ I should think you would.” 

“ Why?” 

“ ’Cause she’s so han’some and sets so much by ye!” 

The gathering shadows, fortunately, hid the burning 
flush which mantled the cheeks and brow of Philip at 
the blunt remark of the strange youth. 

“What do you mean, you young simpleton?” Temple 
angrily exclaimed. 

“ Oh, nothin’ much.” 

“ Do you know, I’ve a mind to teach you better man- 
ners? ” Philip wrathfully cried. 

The youth recoiled, in some trepidation. 

“ Don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean nothin’, I tell ye,” 
he declared. 

“ Then see that you keep a civil tongue in your head 
in future. 

The young man rose as he uttered this warning, and 
entered the house. 


CALM DESPAIR. 


113 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

CALM DESPAIR. 

“What words are these have fall’ll from me! 

Can calm despair and wild unrest 
Be tenants of a single hreast, 

Or sorrow such a changeling be ? ” 

—In Memoriam. 

The two succeeding days were comparatively unevent- 
ful ones at the Gridley dwelling. The fears concerning 
Stacy’s injury were realized. He was a very sick man, 
and required constant attention. The nurse procured at 
the village w T as inexperienced and inefficient, and Chester 
Boynton and Philip Temple shared almost equally in the 
superintendence and care of the unfortunate man. 

Mrs. Boynton lent a hand also, in the gentle, quiet 
way Tyhich belongs to her sex. But between herself and 
Chester a tacit coldness continued. 

That he knew the cause of delay upon the day of 
her arrival she was aware. Hence she felt that an apology 
for his hasty judgment was due both herself and Philip. 

But no apology was made. He did not seem to be 
watching them ; outwardly, no one could discern a trace 
of jealousy on the part of Mr. Boynton. 

Philip and Tracy met at the table; and when her hus- 
band was at the bedside of the patient, they sometimes 
strolled out upon the lawn together, chatting in a light 
vein, and making no reference to her unhappiness, or to 
former days. 

Upon the third morning Mr. Stacy was somewhat bet- 
ter, and Philip announced in the presence of Chester and 
Tracy his intention to return to the Webb cottage. 

“ I have been neglecting my own work too long 
already,” he declared, “ and it is time that I bestirred 
myself. For, you will remember, I am not simply idling 
away a summer vacation. I am gathering scraps and 
sketches of rural scenery, to use in my designs for engrav- 
8 — 


114 


CALM DESPAIR. 


ing. Next month I am to illustrate several magazine 
serials, and I must have an abundance of fresh material 
in my sketch book to select from.” 

To this announcement Tracy made no response — at 
least, not then. Chester merely said : 

u We shall miss you, of course. But you know best 
what you can do. The nurse and I can handle Stacy’s 
case now, without over-taxing either of us.” 

Philip arranged to return the next morning. 

Toward nightfall he saw Tracy walking leisurely out 
upon the road. She appeared to be on an aimless stroll ; 
and it occurred to Philip that he might not again have 
an opportunity to speak with her before his departure. 
Hence, under an irresistible impulse he started out bent 
upon overtaking her. 

When he reached the road she had disappeared beyond 
a curve, and he quickened his steps, fearing that he 
should miss the opportunity. Beaching a huge oak by 
the roadside, he came upon Tracy in the act of gathering 
a mass of golden rod, which grew plentifully in that spot. 
She did not notice his approach until he was at her side. 

“ So vou came,” she exclaimed, slowly facing about. 



follow you?” he eagerly re- 


turned, strangely thrilled by her words and expression. 

“ I thought it was like you to follow,” she replied. 

He looked at her keenly. Was she ridiculing him? 
She had stopped breaking the long stems of golden rod ; 
that which she had already gathered she permitted to 
fall to the ground. 

“I did not iniend to intrude against your wishes,” 
Philip gravely said. She was silent, and, with a vague 
sense of disappointment he turned away. 

“ Stay ! ” she exclaimed. 

He faced about, and saw that she was smiling. 

“ I didji’t tell you to go,” she added. 

“ I inferred that you looked upon my following you 
as an intrusion.” 

“You had no right to infer anything of the kind. I 


CALM DESPAIR, 


115 


expected you to come, and I should have been disap- 
pointed if you had not.” 

This was sufficiently plain, and he was at her side in 
a moment. 

“ I thought I would bid you good-by before I went 
back,” he said, his voice very low. 

“We might have bid each other adieu at the house,” 
she suggested. 

“And you think it would have been the better way?” 

“Perhaps. But I wished to say something more to 
you.” 

“What is it? ” 

She hesitated. Then she suddenly buried her face in 
her hands, giving vent to a burst of weeping which, 
evidently, she had restrained until this moment only by 
strong self-control. 

The evidence of her anguish sent a yet keener pain to 
the heart of Philip Temple. He did not pause to con- 
sider the questionableness of the act. His sympathy 
and love gained, for the time, complete control, and he 
was in a mood to defy right or wrong. He drew nearer, 
and seized her hands in both his own, gently drawing 
them away from her face. 

“ Tracy !” he cried, in a low, passionate tone. “ How 
long is this to continue? It is breaking my heart to see 
you suffer so, without the power of comforting or aiding 
you! It seems bitterly wrong that, when one is in 
trouble, one’s truest friend may not bestow his sympathy 
and counsel unchecked.” 

She did not withdraw her hands from his strong, steady 
grasp. Her eyes, full of tears, looked up into his. 

“ What has lie been saying to you?” he asked, after a 
moment of eloquent silence. 

“Nothing,” she answered. 

“ Has nothing new occurred ? Have you not — quarreled 
again ?” 

“No. We have not quarreled. But he treats me so 


116 


CALM DESPAIR. 


coldly. He knows that he has wronged me, yet he ap- 
pears as though the opposite were the case.” 

She hesitated again. And then, speaking rapidly she 
continued : 

“ I feel that it is wrong for me to confide in you thus. 
But what else can I do? Can I submit tamely to his in- 
justice? I wish you would tell me what to do. I would 
abide by your dicision. You have proven yourself better, 
nobler than I ever dreamed you could be. What shall I 
do? Tell me — tell me!” 

How beautiful she was, in her anguish and helpless- 
ness. What could Philip Temple advise, loving her as 
he did? Could he tell her to go to her husband and 
throw herself at his feet, begging that they might be 
reconciled ? Did she really desire a reconciliation with 
Chester Boynton ? 

Philip Temple had more than once convinced himself 
that Tracy did not love her husband at all. He had ar- 
rived, long ago, at a conviction that, in spite of the bonds 
binding her to another, she loved him! If this were true, 
what advice could he offer? 

The situation was one in which he could not reason 
calmly. The charm of her nearness was upon him. They 
were alone, amid the gathering tints of twilight; her 
hands rested unresistingly in his; he could hear the tu- 
multuous throbbing of her heart in the breathless silence. 

He bent his face nearer hers; for a brief space of time 
he cast off the restraint upon his emotions which he had 
only maintained under a most severe tension of control. 

“Oh, my darling!” he exclaimed, scarce above a 
whisper. “Yes, I will say it, Tracy — I must say it, if 
you kill me — if he kills me,” he went on, as her hands 
fluttered in his like imprisoned birds. “ I love you, as 
the saints love heaven! By divine right, you belong to 
me — you never belonged to him. You made a terrible 
mistake; you never cared for him as you ought; you have 
cared more for me from the first.” 

The look of mingled anguish and apprehension that 


CALM DESPAIR. 


117 


came into her eyes condemned him even as he spoke. 
But, like a torrent which has once broken forth from its 
bounds, his passionate utterance ran on unmindful of 
the pain he might inflict, or the lasting disgrace or terri- 
ble consequences which he might entail upon her as well 
as himself. 

“You do not deny it,” he continued, his tones grow- 
ing less vehement and more eager. “Your face, your 
eyes, your silence, your trembling, all tell me the sweet, 
yet bitter truth. Let your lips utter it also — just once! 
Say that you do, that you have loved me — say it with 
your lips! And then, if you bid me leave you, and go 
to the farthest ends of the earth, I will meekly obey. 
But I cannot go without the boon I ask — the boon of 
that sweetest of words, if it be only whispered, or shaped 
by those lips ! Tracy, Tracy ! "Why are you silent % ” 

She had grown deathly white while he was speaking. 
It was plain that he was subjecting her to a terrible 
strain. Her lips fluttered, she struggled to free her 
hands, she recoiled from him, as though in sudden horror. 

“ Philip — Mr. Temple — -why, why — .” Her utterance 
seemed choked; she tottered in sudden, over-powering 
faintness ; he caught her, white and silent, in his arms ; 
she had swooned. 

But those faltered words, and the look of horror upon 
her countenance brought him, with a shock, to a full 
realization of what he had said — of what he had im- 
plored her to confess. In that moment Philip Temple 
loathed himself, as he could have loathed no other hu- 
man being. To have been the instrument of inflicting 
such pain to this helpless, friendless woman; to cause 
her to swoon in very horror at his vehement, sinful ut- 
terance — what greater punishment could an avenging 
angel have inflicted upon the sensitive soul of a man ! 

Bo absorbed was he that he did not hear the sound of 
passing wheels. And not until Tracy was resuscitated, 
and he had accompanied her in silence back to the house, 
was he aware that there had been a new arrival at the 
Gridley dwelling. 


118 


SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 

“First she relents 

With pity ; of that pity then repents.” —Prior. 

There is nothing so alluring as the paths which lead 
to danger. 

They are strewn with fairest flowers, redolent with in- 
toxicating perfumes, and bright with the witching glamor 
of silvery moonlight. Hope, and pleasure, and delight 
lay invitingly before ; while darkness and difficulty close 
in behind. The descent is easy and agreeable; but to re- 
turn, the way lies over seemingly inaccessible heights 
which we have not the heart nor the strength to climb. 

Such had been the experience of Philip Temple ; and 
in a lesser degree it was also that of Mrs. Boynton. 

The fact of the frequent disagreements between Tracy 
and her husband had led the latter to seek the more agree- 
able society of her former lover. In doing this she had 
no intention of wrong, in act or thought. There is a 
purity of heart which is above self-distrust. Such was 
hers. A suggestion of wrong "was a shock to her — hence 
the keenness of her resentment under the jealous charges 
of her husband, for not once had she entertained an un- 
faithful thought. 

That she was pleased by Philip’s companionship could 
not be denied. She knew, from the moment of their 
meeting upon the mountain-side that she still possessed 
the truest devotion of his heart. This she could not help. 
She could not blame him, either, for his passion had be- 
gun, and matured, when it had a right to do so. She 
even felt that, in some way, she ought to show him that 
she admired his fidelity, which in men is so rare; and in 
cultivating friendly relations, and attempting to throw 
off the embarrassing restraint which the memory of the 


SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 


119 


past might exercise over them, she overstepped the hounds 
of prudence. 

In all this she was innocent. Even the secret delight 
which she felt in still possessing Temple’s preference was 
innocent, because she did not realize the possible danger 
of entertaining it. 

It is a pleasure to woman to be beloved. There is a 
subtle fascination in the possession of this power over 
hearts — a fascination which sometimes leads to danger, 
sometimes to coquetry, and often to life-long misery. 
Yet, in the beginning, danger and misery are unthought 
of. 

With Tracy and Philip there had been a steady, swift 
drifting toward the crisis which had now been reached. 

The point beyond which Temple’s generous, honorable 
nature could not safely go had been passed, and with the 
result which in another lie would have been keen enough 
to foresee. 

Ah! if those passionate words could only be recalled ! 
If, with his newly learned wisdom, he could only be per- 
mitted to go back, and exercise the self-control and pru- 
dence which were now possible to him. 

Before his departure the next morning he only saw 
Mrs. Boynton for a brief instant as they both chanced to 
meet in a room through which they were hastily passing. 

Her face was very pale; but as she met his glance, he 
saw pity, reproach, yet no anger expressed in her look. 

“You can not condemn me so utterly as I condemn 
myself, Mrs. Boynton,” he said, in a low, unsteady tone. 

“The fault was not wholly yours; I led you to it, in 
my own blindness,” she answered. 

For a moment he lingered. Then, turning away, he 
hastily said: 

“You had best tell your husband all, and then he will 
condemn me and not you. I do not misunderstand you 
now. Mr. Boynton will honor you when he knows the 
truth.” 

He did not say good-by, nor did she resp ond to his 


ISO 


SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 


parting injunction. Both passed on, and a few moments 
later Philip Temple was being driven rapidly away from 
the Gridley dwelling. 

Tracy had not yet seen Mr. Brock, although she knew 
the evening before that he had arrived. But as she en- 
tered the next room, she met him face to face. 

“ Couldn’t keep away from your husband forever, you 
see,” he declared, with his slow, cold smile. 

She barely touched, with her lingers, the hand which 
he extended in greeting. She could scarce repress a 
shudder in the contact. He could not have failed to note 
her aversion, and just the suspicion of a frown for a 
moment darkened his brow. 

But his tones lost none of their affability, as he con- 
tinued speaking. 

“ They miss you at the hotel at a tremendous rate, Mrs. 
Boynton,” he continued. He had retreated to a window, 
through which a flood of yellow sunlight was shining. 

“Miss Wentworth, in particular, desired me to inquire 
if you were not coming back pretty soon. She was 
decidedly down-in-the-mouth yesterday about nothing. So 
much so that she seemed actually to enjoy my society. 
Another falling out with that fickle lover of hers, it’s 
likely. Pity they couldn’t separate for good!” 

Mr. Brock shrugged his shoulders as he voiced this sen- 
timent. 

Tracy found herself strangely fascinated by his remarks. 
She experienced a wish to combat him, in some way ; for 
his every characteristic and expressed opinion was repel- 
lant to her. 

“ Why do you wish them to separate?” she demanded, 
a flash of indignation in her tones. 

“ Better for them both,” he tersely replied. 

“And why better?” she persisted. 

“ Save separating when it would be more embarrassing 
all around. Lovers can part, and their good names wiU 
survive. But married people kick up the biggest kind of 


SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 


191 


a dust with their reputations in separating, or getting 
divorced.” 


If there was a hidden significance in this remark, Tracy- 
failed to preceive it. 

“ Because they quarrel now is no indication that they 
may not live happily when married,” she warmly as- 
serted. 

a Isn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 

“ Perhaps not,” he added. 

“ Do you think it is?” 

She seemed bent upon showing her antagonism. 

“I suppose not, if you say so. You’ve married and 
I’m a bachelor. So we have a right to differ, though 
your ideas are entitled to more respect than mine.” 

The innuendo conveyed was not lost upon Tracy. 

Her face flushed with sudden anger. 

“ Why do you say that?” she demanded. 

“ I don’t know — my oddity, I suppose.” 

“I believe you meant to — to insult me,” she cried. 

“ Oh, no ! Beg pardon. I thought we were friendly. 
But never mind — we can disagree and still be friends, 
can’t we? Your husband is a famous friend of mine. He 
understands me. You are a little prejudiced on account 
of something offensive in my looks or speech. But I’m 
not to blame for either. I’ve no ill will toward you. I’m 
blunt in my ways; I’m odd, and inclined to be cold when 
everybody else is too warm. That’s constitutional. We 
won’t quarrel about the temperature. I’ll stand in the sun 
and you may stay out of it, and then we’ll both by com- 
fortable — eh?” 

Tracy’s indignation was restrained only by a strong 
effort. 

She was convinced that this man liked her no better 
than she liked him. Yet he was an enigma to her. She 
could not analyze the cause for her own antipathy. 

“ You have no right to wish others to be unhappy be- 
cause you can not sympathize with them in their joys,” 
she said, more deliberately. 


122 


SHE KELENTS WITH PITY. 


“That’s true, Mrs. Boynton,” he returned, with 
another shrug and smile. 

“I own,” he continued, “ that I don’t fancy this love- 
making. I may have my reasons, and I may not. But 
I don’t like it. There’s more unhappiness than good in 
it, the world over. Bead history, biography, anything 
but romance, and you’ll find it so. But that’s no reason 
why 1 should interfere by a word, I admit. You’re right 
and I’m wrong, same as you are when you say the day is 
warm and I say it’s cold. This is a cold day to me. To 
you it’s warm, else you’d change that pretty, sleazy white 
gown for a warmer one. You see we can't argue from 
the same standpoint. But we won’t quarrel, eh! — go- 
ing? No offense, I hope?” 

“None,” she coldly replied, passing from the room. 

Did she imagine it, or did she hear a low chuckle from 
Mr. Brock, as the door closed between them ? 

He had arrived sometime the evening before — she did 
not know when. Philip had watched w r ith Stacy, and 
Mr. Boynton had retired early for a sound night’s sleep, 
so it was doubtful if Chester and Brock more than ex- 
changed greetings the night of the latter’s arrival. 

But before the day had passed, they took one of their 
customary strolls together. They were absent longer 
than usual, and when they returned Mr. Boynton went 
directly to attend upon Stacy. His wife only met him 
at the table again that day, and then she was struck by a 
strange, cold pallor which had settled upon his counte- 
nance. 

“ Are you ill, Chester?” she questioned, as for a moment 
they were left alone. 

“No,” he answered, without looking at her. 

“What, then, has happened?” 

“ Nothing.” 

“You are very pale.” 

“Am I? ” 

She went up to him and placed one hand upon his 
arm. 


SHE RELENTS WITH PITY. 


123 


“ I wish we might understand each other better! ” she 
exclaimed, her tones full of eagerness. 

t He did not look at her. A scornful smile wreathed 
his lips. 

“ I think we know each other full well already,” he 
replied. 

“Are you not willing to be at peace with me? Can 
you not listen to what I have to say?” 

The glance which he sent into her face caused her to 
recoil in startled dismay. 

“There are extenuating circumstances, and I shall 
not be uncharitable!” he said, in a tone that seemed to 
freeze the blood in her veins. 

The housekeeper came in at that moment, and Chester 
abruptly repaired to Stacy’s room. 

She did not see him again that night. In the morning, 
as she came down stairs, she met the younger Gridley in 
the small entry-way. 

The youth leaned his chin upon one crutch and looked 
quizzically up into her face. 

“Didn’t you know he’d gone?” he asked, in his nasal 
tones. 

“Gone! — whom?” she returned. 

“Both of ’em! ” 

“Hot — my husband?” 

“ Yes, and the cold chap.” 

“ Where did they go?” 

“I dunno.” 

“This morning?” 

“Ho, last night. With a team. I thought you didn’t 
know. Gi’n ye the slip.” 

Tracy clasped her hands, a sudden sense of nameless 
horror sweeping over her. 

Chester and Mr. Brock gone — and they went last 
night! 

What, what did it mean ? Perhaps she was impressed 
by a premonition of what the dreadful sequel was to be. 


124 , 


TO NO REMORSE. 


CHAPTER XX. 


TO NO REMORSE. 


“Curse on the unpardoning prince whom tears can draw 
To no remorse.’’ 


— Dryden. 


Philip Temple spent the day — or all that remained of 
it — after his arrival at the Webb cottage in the most as- 
siduous labor. 

He ascended to the very summit of the mountain witli 
indefatigable determination, and sketched, from various 
points of view, the landscape spread below. 

His excessive industry was prompted by two impulses. 
The first, was to relieve the sense of remorse which was 
feeding upon his mind ; the second, a desire to make use 
of the rare scenery before he should be obliged to leave 
the spot. 

For he had firmly resolved not to see Tracy Boynton 
again. Upon her arrival at the hotel, he would leave the 
vicinity for good, to avoid all chance of meeting her. 

Hot that he distrusted his power of self-control. There 
was no further danger of his yielding to an overpower- 
ing sweep of passion, even if the opportunity or temp- 
tation were presented. The lesson had been thoroughly, 
terribly learned. He loathed his own weakness; his re- 
spect for Tracy’s purity of soul was profound; he could 
meet her now daily without danger. He was now capa- 
ble of alertness in the avoidance of what might be con- 
strued into an appearance of evil. 

Therefore it was not for this that he desired to avoid 
meeting Mrs. Boynton again. His true reason was a 
simple one. He feared that he might prove an obstacle 
to the final reconciliation of husband and wife, through 
the jealousy which had already been excited in the for- 
mer. 

“ He shall have her entirely to himself, as he ought,” 


TO NO REMORSE. 


125 


he mentally decided. “I will not even obtrude my 
friendship. And beside, what I said to her in that mad 
moment, though forgiven, cannot pass wholly from the 
memory. Therefore it would be hard for us ever to re- 
gain anything like a natural demeanor in each other’s 
presence. I shall go away, and if we meet in after years 
she shall have no cause to shrink from me, nor her hus- 
band to regard me with distrust.” 

Such reflections as these flitted through his mind dur- 
ing the entire day, while he was busy with eye and pencil. 

A ever had he been capable of clearer discernment in 
the beauties of nature than upon that memorable day. 
Never had his hand been so deft in its execution, nor so 
facile in perfection. 

So much good work, done within so short a period, had 
never been possible to him before. It is a singular, yet 
well proven fact that sometimes we find ourselves capa- 
ble of marvelously perfect work while laboring under 
. severe mental or physical depression. There is at such 
times a preternatural exaltation of the intellect by which 
the brain is stimulated beyond its normal capacity, while 
the hand gains a trueness of touch never attained before. 

Philip returned to the cottage at nightfall and partook 
of a light supper. Then he started forth again. 

Near the house he encountered Jason Webb. 

“ Not going to investigate that mystery to-night, be 
you?” the young farmer cpiestioned. 

“ No. I wish to make a few moonlight sketches, for 
which the evening promises to be especially fine,” was 
the reply. 

u Going fur?” 

u Up the mountain a short distance.” 

“ Don’t want any company, I ’spose?” 

Philip hesitated. 

Ordinarily he would not have objected to the society 
of the good-humored young man. Put to-night he was 
in no mood for talking or listening. Beside, he could 
work faster alone. So he replied: 


126 


TO NO REMORSE. 


“ Yon will pardon me, Mr. Webb, but your companion- 
ship is too agreeable. I can’t work and talk, without 
spoiling both. And if you are with me I shall certainly 
talk, so the work will have to suffer. Otherwise, I should 
be only too glad to have you with me.” 

“ That’s all right, of course. Hope you’ll have good 
luck.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Philip turned into the path, leading toward the sum- 
mer hotel — the fateful path whence the mysterious light 
was visible. He went only a few yards before stopping 
to glance back. He saw Jason Webb still gazing after 
him, and he had half a mind to alter his decision, and re- 
quest his host to join him. 

“ Going to stay out late?” Webb called. 

“ Hot very,” Temple replied, still hesitating. 

“ Be in by ten o’clock, I suppose?” 

“Yes, or before. Don’t sit up for me however. I 
sha’n’t want to stop work while the moon shines brightly. 
I can almost see to sketch without my lantern with such 
a moon.” 

Webb turned away and Temple hastened onward, for 
the sun had set already, and the red glow of the western 
horizon was fading in the white light of the moon, high 
in the heavens. 

Philip ascended the mountain by a side path, reaching 
a bold, jutting rock from which a view of the whole val- 
ley could be obtained. 

He lighted his lantern, adjusted a reflecting shade so 
as to throw the light upon his paper, and then com- 
menced work. 

Far below was the zigzag road, the sand gleaming 
white in contrast with the dark trees beyond. There 
were glimpses of the river, its surface like molten silver; 
there were several farm-houses, from which lights gleamed 
dully; and a partial view of the red-roofed hotel, and 
several summer cottages near it also came within the 
scope of the broad picture. 


TO NO REMORSE. 


127 


With such an enchanting model almost anyone, it 
seemed, could have made clever sketches. Philip had an 
artistic eye, and not a point of the perfect landscape es- 
caped his appreciative glance. 

The time passed swiftly, so deeply engaged did he be- 
come in his task. In truth the material for pictures con- 
stantly accumulated without a change of position. The 
moon, gliding along the azure dome made a constant 
change of outline, shifting the shadows, and illumingnew 
points which had before been hidden, while others be- 
came obscured. 

But presently the young man realized that he could 
not continue his work much longer. A glance at Jiis 
watch caused him to leap to his feet in surprise. 

Eleven o’clock already! And it would take half an 
hour, at the least calculation, to reach the cottage. 

He commenced the descent without delay. It required 
care to pick his way, and he presently found that he had 
missed the route by which he came up, and was following 
another, though easier path. At length he reached the 
main path, at a point lying between the spot of mystery 
and the summer hotel. Hence he would be obliged to 
pass the “haunted ” place to reach the cottage. 

The prospect did not disturb him in the least. He 
felt some curiosity to see if the strange light would be 
there to tantalize his interest. 

He had not proceeded a dozen steps along the path, 
however, before he became aware that some one was ad- 
vancing toward him from the direction of Webb’s. Was 
it his host, alarmed by his protracted absence* 

He had not long to wait for an answer to his query, 
for he came face to face with the other. 

“ Mr. Boynton !” involuntarily broke from Temple’s 
lips, as the other halted, barring his progress. 

“So we have met,” Chester Boynton returned, in a 
low, husky tone. 

“ Yes. But what has happened?” 

Philip was struck by the strange tone and expression 


128 


TO NO REMORSE. 


of the other. That something had occurred he was 
vaguely conscious — something of a startling character. 

“ I have come to have a little talk with you,” Chester 
returned. 

“How did you find me?” Philip, in his bewilder- 
ment, did not know what else to say. 

“I called at the Webb cottage, and they told me I 
should meet you if I patrolled this path. I should have 
persisted in doing so if I had not found you until morn- 
ing. Did you think to elude me? You may well recoil, 
false betrayer of my confidence!” 

Philip did recoil. There was something apalling in 
the tone and look of Chester Boynton. 

“You need not be so vehement, Mr. Boynton,” Temple 
returned, his calmness of voice in marked contrast with 
the harsh tone of the other. 

“ You had rather I would he mild and forgiving, I 
doubt not. But it is not in me to be so. I’m very hu- 
man.” 

“ I wish you would make a coherent charge, that I 
might answer it. It is cowardly to attack me without 
permitting me to arm for self-defense.” 

“ Cowardly, is it? You are a fine man to speak of 
cowardice! Why didn’t you remain and meet my wrath, 
like a man? I might have respected you then. Instead, 
you run away, like the base poltroon you are.” 

Temple had but recently learnt the lesson of self-con- 
trol, but his late experience served to restrain him at this 
moment from what might have been a rash, unpardon- 
able act. 

“ Then your wife has told you of my base folly? ” he 
managed to ask. 

“ She told me — no! ” 

“ Then what do you know that you did not know be- 
fore I came away? I told her to tell you all. She is 
blameless — ” 

“ Stop! ” Boynton cried, interrupting. 


TO NO REMORSE. 


129 


“ Do you expect me to credit a word you say?” he de- 
manded. 

“ You may do as you wish. Mrs. Boynton will testify 
to my truthfulness.” 

“ Ho doubt. She would swear to anything you pleased. 
But I do not depend upon her word nor yours. I have 
friends who will not allow me to be imposed upon.” 

11 mess the truth flashed upon the 



“ Brock — the cold, sneaking villain — he is the spy!” 
he cried. 

“How know you that? I -would not have betrayed 
him.” 

“ I know it because no one else is capable of the base 
action. Who else would attempt to part man and wife, 
and ruin the happiness of both ? It is he who has poisoned 
your mind from the first.” 

“Well, suppose he did, if the truth were poison?” 

“ What has he told you, Mr. Boynton? ” 

“ Something which you dare not deny ! ” 

“ I shall deny nothing that is true. But I desire the 
privilege of explaining to you whatever may appear to 
you in so terrible a light. God knows that I deserve almost 
the worst that you can say to me; but I wish to be con- 
demned for what I have done, and not for what I have 
not done. And I insist that you know the truth, that 
your wife may be cleared from every shadow of doubt. 
You may well doubt me, but it is infamous in you to dis- 
trust her!” 

A moment of silence fell between them. 

The breathing of the two men was audible to each 
other, so still it was about them. 

The shadows had lengthened and deepened. The moon- 
light rested upon the tree tops, and upon the face of the 
mountain ; but where they stood it was growing rapidly 
dark. 

“ What you say sounds very fine,” Boynton said, at 
last. 


9 


130 


TO NO REMORSE. 


“ Will you allow me to make my own confession?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then listen.” 

Philip rapidly detailed what had passed between Tracy 
and himself at the G-ridley dwelling, and upon their jour- 
ney thither. He came to the evening before his departure 
from Gridley’s. This was the hardest part of all. He 
began, repeating every word of that preliminary conver- 
sation with Tracy, which had preceded his own passionate 
outburst. Before confessing the latter he hesitated. 

“ Go on,” Boynton commanded. “ Y on haven’t reached 
the climax yet, I know. Bemember, Mr. Brock passed 
at a very important moment. Tell the whole — don’t you 
withhold a single syllable!” 

“You need have no fears — I shall not spare myself,” 
Temple replied. 

And he did not. Everything was told. And in con- 
clusion he said : 

“ How you know the truth — that your wife is as noble 
as you could wish her to be ; that her honor is as spotless 
as — ” 

“Stop!” Boynton again cried. His hands were 
clenched, his face fairly livid with passion. 


WOMANLY INGENUITY, 


131 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WOMANLY INGENUITY. 

“Now withered murder, with his stealthy pace, 

Moves like a ghost.” 

—Shakspeare. 

“Womanly ingenuity set to work by womanly compassion.” 

—Macaulay . 

“ Curi’s wa’n’t it Jenny?” 

For about the twentieth time in the last hour J ason W ebb 
gave utterance to this query. And each time Jenny re- 
plied: “ I can’t help worrying about it, Jason!” 

I was of Chester Boynton’s strange looks when he had 
called to inquire for Philip Temple that these comments 
were uttered. 

Boynton’s appearance and speech filled them first, with 
wonder and later with vague alarm. For the clock had 
struck twelve, and their boarder had not appeared. 

“ What keeps him so? You don’t suppose — ” Jenny 
interrupted herself, and looked into the face of her hus- 
band. 

It was late for them to be sitting up; yet they were 
wide awake. The oil burned low in the lamp which 
stood on the table between them. Jason had made a 
pretense of reading his newspaper for some time 0 But 
now he flung it down and sprang to his feet. 

“ I’m going to meet him,” he declared, decisively. 

“May be he won’t like it,” she suggested. 

“ I don’t care — he may lump it, then.” 

“ I guess I’ll go, too,” said Mrs. Webb, rising and throw- 
ing a shawl over her graceful shoulders. 

“ What for?” her husband remonstrated. 

“ I don’t want to stay here alone,” was the cleverly 
contrived response. 

“ Well, come along.” 

They went out, locking the door after them. Only the 
higher points of the landscape were now lighted by the 


132 


WOMANLY INGENUITY 


rays of the declining moon. The hollows and level 
spaces were all in shadow, and the gloom enshrouding 
them constantly deepened. 

They struck into the path, and walked, at first, slowly, 
hut as they proceeded quickening their pace. 

A deathlike stillness reigned. Occasionally a light 
breeze whispered in the tree-tops ; once, at a great dis- 
tance a whippoorwill’s cry was faintly audible. The 
"Webbs paused as they heard it, thinking it was the cry 
of a human being. But they speedily discovered their 
mistake, and moved on again. 

“Do you suppose we shall see that strange light?” 
Jenny queried, clinging close to the arm of her husband. 

“ Like enough.” 

“ What shall we do?” 

“Let it shine. Who cares, so long as no harm is 


done?” 


“ There was harm done to you the other night.” 

“ There wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t been careless.” 
There was another interval of silence. Then she spoke 
again : 

“ Tt is stra,no*ft we don’t meet him!” 



“ Yes.” 

“ So it is. I wonder what Mr. Boynton wanted of 
him ?” 

“ I don’t know. And yet — ” She hesitated, glancing 
cautiously backward. 

“ What is it, Jenny?” 

“ I heard something yesterday.” 

“You heard what?” 

“ A piece of gossip, you will say.” 

“ From Rice’s wife?” 

“ She got it from some of the servants over at the sum- 
mer hotel.” 

“Well, what did she hear.” 

“You don’t like gossip, Jason!” She laughed mis- 
chievously, indicating that he had “lectured” her upon 


WOMANLY INGENUITY. 


153 


the weakness of lier sex at some time in the past, for 
which she could now be revenged. 

“ Well, I don’t, that’s certain,” he said in a crestfallen 
way. He continued: 

“ But I thought you were going to say something about 
Boynton — something that might explain his strange ap- 
pearance of to-night.” 

“ So I was.” 

“ Then go on — don’t bother!” 

She lowered her tones almost to a whisper. 

‘‘They say that Mr. Temple — our Mr. Temple — and 
Mrs. Boynton think a great deal of each other,” she de- 
clared, with slow emphasis. 

“Eh!” 

“ And that they were engaged before she married this 
man. If that is true , Mr. Boynton may have been jeal- 
ous to-night.” 

“ So he might, if it is true. But it may be all moon- 
shine. Those servants are fearful gossips, and Jim’s 
wife is a whole team at story-telling. Don’t you repeat 
it to a soul, Jenny!” 

“ You needn’t be afraid of my doing it. I oughtn’t to 
have told you, I suppose.” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

They were silent again. They had reached the “ haunt* 
ed” spot, and both involuntarily glanced toward the 
place where the mysterious light usually shone. 

“ It isn’t there, for a wonder!” Jason exclaimed. 

They passed on in silence. But they had proceeded 
less than a dozen paces when Jenny suddenly came to a 
halt, clutching the arm of her companion. 

“ What is that?” 

She pointed at a dark object lying across the path. 

“A log of wood — isn’t it?” he returned, more quiet- 
nerved. They both advanced, bent nearer the object, 
and then recoiled, an ejaculation breaking from the lips 
of Jason, a scream from his wife. 

It was not a log of wood lying across the path. It was 


WOMANLY INGENUITY. 


134 

a man, and he lay as motionless and silent as though he 
were dead. 

“Oh, mercy!” Mrs. "Webb cried, in frantic horror. 

“Don’t take on so — he may not be dead,” said Jason, 
reassuringly. 

He bent over the motionless form, Jenny standing 
near with clasped hands and pallid face. The figure lay 
upon its face, and as Webb gently turned him over upon 
his back, he saw that it was Philip Temple — his face 
blanched, and smeared with blood. 

“He has been murdered! Mr. Boynton murdered 
him!” Jenny exclaimed, wringing her hands. 

“ Hush!” admonished her husband. “ It isn’t safe for 
you to say that, Jenny,” he continued. “ We liain’t no 
right to charge the crime ag’in anybody, and we better 
be careful. Maybe he isn’t dead. I don’t b’lieve he is. 
He isn’t cold, anyhow. But we mustn’t stand here and 
do nothing. Can’t you run over to the hotel and tell 
’em ?” 

“ Ho, no! I can’t alone.” 

“ Of course you needn’t. I hadn’t ought to asked you. 
The first thing is to see if he is alive, and if lie is the 
next thing is to get him to the house as lively as ever we can. 
If lie’s dead, then we can both go to the hotel and tell 
’em. I wish he hadn’t called to incpiire for Mr. Temple 
at our house. I wish we didn’t know nothing about it. 
We’ll be witnesses don’t you see?” 

While speaking, Webb had not been idle. lie tore 
open the young man’s shirt and placed his hand over his 
heart. 

“He’s dead — no, he isn’t!” he exclaimed, in rapid con- 
tradiction. 

“ He’s alive, but scarcely. Why in blazes didn’t I 
fetch my lantern? Can you help me to carry him, so that 
we sha’n’t hurt him more’n can be helped? I’ll bear his 
heft, and you can stiddy him a little. Beady?” 

She was ready. Gently they raised the unfortunate 
young man, tears from Jenny’s eyes falling upon his 


WOMANLY INGENUITY. 


135 


white face as they did so. And then, slowly, carefully 
they made their way toward the cottage. Never did the 
distance seem so great, nor the path so full of stones and 
pieces of dead wood. Their arms ached, and they were 
in a fever of anxiety for fear that the delay would pre- 
clude the possibility of saving the young man’s life. 

What if he should die while they were bearing him to 
the cottage? Would it not have better to have left him 
where he lay and hastened for help? 

They saw the light from their own window at last. 
In another moment they had entered, and the young 
man, white and dreadfully still, was laid upon his own 
bed. 

Once more Jason felt for his heart-beats, and once 
more he was reassured. 

“You hitch up the team and ride for the doctor,” 
Jenny exclaimed, growing brave when she realized that 
the case was not a hopeless one, and that there was some- 
thing for them to do. 

“ I will get some water hot, and see if I can’t fetch 
him to while you’re gone,” she continued, beginning to 
bustle around the rooms. 

She brought out a bottle of brandy, which was kept in 
the house “against a case of sickness,” and forced a few 
drops of it between the closed lips of the patient. A 
lire was made to burn in the kitchen range, and the tea- 
kettle sang as merrily as though it were not a most 
dreadful and solemn occasion. 

Jason did not stop a moment. Jenny hearR the rattle 
of his buggy as he drove away down the road, and said to 
herself: 

“lie won’t be gone long, I know, and when the doctor 
comes we shall know the worst. I do hope he’ll live. It 
is so dreadful to have a murder committed almost in your 
own family, as you might say. And beside, I don’t be- 
lieve Mr. Temple deserves such a dreadful fate. He is 
an honest looking chap, and that frank in his ways that 
nobody would suspect him of doing wrong. And a gen- 


136 


WOMANLY INGENUITY. 


tleman, too, though not ashamed to talk with poor folks 
like Jason and me as though we were as good as he.” 

Thus the busy woman ran on, keeping herself company 
with the sound of her own cheery voice. And all the 
while she worked over the unfortunate young man. 

There was no wound upon the latter save upon his head. 
He had been felled by a heavy blow upon the temple. 

There were other bruises about his head, as though his 
assailant had followed up his cruel attack even after his 
victim was defenseless. 

Mrs. Webb had plenty of presence of mind and a 
liberal degree of good sense, therefore her ministrations 
to the injured man were not wholly unsuccessful; and she 
certainly rendered his chances no worse, as too many 
might have done under the circumstances. 

The rattle of wheels sounded at last. The door was 
opened without ceremony, and a short, round-faced man 
came in. He nodded to Jenny, went directly to the bed- 
side of Mr. Temple, and bent over the latter. 

Jason came in just as the doctor had finished his ex- 
amination. 

“ A bad case!” declared the physician, deliberately 
facing the eager watchers. 


HER FAILING. 


137 


CHAPTER XXII. 

HER FAILING. 

“Her failing, while her faith to me remains, I would conceal.” 

— Milton, 

It was early the next morning that a horse and car- 
riage drew up before Vinton’s retreat. It was a livery 
team from the neighboring village; and it was a stable 
boy who alighted and assisted his lady passenger to do 
the same. 

“ Tracy — is it you?” cried Lou Wentworth, who was 
an early riser, and was consequently out upon the ver- 
anda, watching the white mist as it was wafted away 
across the valley by the light breeze. As her gaze fell 
upon the countenance of her friend, however, a cry of 
alarm broke from her lips. 

“What is it? — what has happened?” she eagerly ques- 
tioned, for Mrs. Boynton’s face was deathly white, and 
there was a look about her eyes that betokened a sleep- 
less night. 

“ Is he here?” Tracy breathlessly questioned. 

“Whom do you mean?” 

“ My husband.” 

“ I don’t know — I haven’t seen him. I heard some- 
one say that Mr. Brock had come.” 

“ They were together — they came last night,” Tracy 
rapidly uttered. The boy had driven off, and they stood 
alone upon the veranda, holding each other’s hands, and 
face to face. 

“Tell me, what has happened?” Lou implored, in an 
agony of apprehension. 

“Oh! how can I tell you, or anyone!” Mrs. Boyn- 
ton covered her face with her hands for a moment, and 
was silent. Then she looked at her friend again, and it 
was plain that she was exercising an almost iron control 
upon her emotions. 

“ I must be calm,” she said, more slowly.” 


138 


HER FAILING. 


“Have you had trouble — with each other?’ 5 Lou ques- 
tioned, in a tone scarce above a whisper. For her ob- 
servant eyes had perceived, upon more than one occasion, 
that husband and wife did not always agree. 

“ I can’t stop to tell you now — you shall know all in 
due time,” Mrs. Boynton replied, and she added: 

“First I must know if Chester is here; and if he is, 
I must see him. Perhaps I apprehend too great evils. 
I am excited; my nerves are overwrought.” 

She hastened into the house, ascended to her rooms, and 
entered. Someone was sitting in a large easy chair by 
the window. He did not stir as she entered. She ad- 
vanced and saw that it was Chester, and that he was 
asleep. 

But he aroused as she approached, and started to his 
feet. 

“ Tracy! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Y es — I couldn’t wait for you to come back,” she re- 
turned, going up to him. 

He stared at her for a moment in a blank, bewildered 
way. Then he took her hands in his, and gazed earnestly 
down into her face. 

“ "Why did you follow me? ” he asked slowly. 

“ Because, I feared — 1 know not what.” 

“ What did you fear?” 

“That you had gone to see him.” 

“ Mr. Temple, do you mean? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And suppose I did — what of that? ” 

His face darkened as she uttered no response, and there 
was half-suppressed passion in his tones as he continued: 

“So you couldn’t trust me to deal justly with him? 
You feared that I might be just, perhaps! Can it be 
that you dared not trust your heart’s idol to my hands, 
lest he suffer?” 

“Chester — Chester!” she cried, clinging to his arm, 
and tears streaming from her eyes. 


HER FAILING. 


139 


Her tone, the expression of anguish upon her beauti- 
ful face, touched him, even in his jealous frenzy. 

“Forgive me, Tracy! I did not mean that,” he said, 
relenting. 

And he went on, as she stood, in that beseeching atti- 
tude before him : 

“ I ought not to be so harsh toward you, I know. The 
fault is not yours, except to a slight degree. I have not 
ministered to your happiness as I might have done ; and 
it is no wonder that you love him better; than me. 
But — ” 

“Stop!” she uttered, almost sternly. He was silent, 
amazed by the imperativeness of her tone and the gesture 
accompanying it. 

“ I do not love Philip Temple better than you — I do 
not love him at all,” she cried, speaking rapidly. “I 
never loved him — had I done so, 1 should not have be- 
come your wife. Yet I confess that I prized his friend- 
ship, that I was charmed by his speech, and admired the 
chivalrous character which, in spite of his weakness, I 
know lie possesses. But that is not love. Oh! why have 
you distrusted me so ? Why have you been so blind to 
the truth? It was your growing distrust which has been 
sundering our hearts. You should have had more faith 
in the honor of her whom you have made your wife. 
Your violent jealousy frightened me. Your sudden de- 
parture last night nearly drove me frantic, for, in the 
mood which I feared you were in, I dare not think what 
rash thing you might do.” 

While she was speaking a gradual change came over 
his countenance. There seemed to be, within his heart, 
a struggle betwixt doubt and conviction. But jealousy, 
once it finds root in the human heart is the most stubborn 
of passions to subdue. It is not satisfied with cold proofs. 
It feeds, and burns within itself. 

As they stood thus, she gazing imploringly up into his 
face, he with downcast eyes, there came a sharp, quick 
Jmock at the door. 


uo 


II EE, FAILING. 


Tracy started back, oppressed by a sense of impending 
ill. Her husband, with an impatient frown hastened to 
the door and flung it open. Two men stood outside. 
One was a large, coarse-featured person, with small, 
shrewd eyes; the other was Jason Webb. The face of 
the latter" was stern; of the former determined. 

“This Mr. Boynton?” the large man inquired, in a 
gruff tone. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Chester Boynton?” — fumbling in his breast pocket. 

“ That is my name. Oblige me with stating your busi- 
ness? This is a rather early hour for a stranger to in- 
trude.” 

“ It is, rather. But business is business. I’ve in- 
truded on folks at more unseasonable times than this. 
Hauled one chap right out of bed not long ago — been 
stealing you understand.” 

He had by this time produced the document for which 
he had been fumbling in his pockets. 

“ I have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Boynton, upon 
a charge of a probably successful attempt upon the life of 
Philip Temple — for the doctor says he must die. Better 
not make any trouble. As you look like a gentleman I 
won’t put the wristlets on if you’re peaceable!” 

The man clapped one brawny hand upon Boynton’s 
shoulder as he spoke. At the same time Tracy sprang 
between them frantically crying: 

“He is innocent! — I know he is innocent! — he would 
never do that, never, never!” 

The sheriff gently pushed her aside. The gruffness of 
his manner all vanished at sight of her beauty and the 
anguish of her countenance. 

“ This is too bad, I declare!” he exclaimed, shrugging 
his shoulders. But fortunately, perhaps, the young wife 
could withstand no further strain opon her senses. For, 
at that moment, she was overcome with faintness, and 
sank in a swoon at the officer’s feet. 

There was confusion in the hotel at once. It had al- 


HER FAILING. 


141 


ready become noised among the guests that an officer bad 
come to arrest Chester Boynton for murder, and the cor- 
ridor became crowded with servants of the house and 
friends of the unfortunate couple. 

“ I will go with you,” Boynton declared, as soon as he 
could find voke to speak. “But,” he continued, in a 
tone of wonderful calmness, “I assure you to begin with 
that you have made a grave mistake. I am innocent of 
any crime; I saw Mr. Temple in all his health and 
strength last night, and parted from him with no thought 
of violence.” 

“ That may all be,” the sheriff replied. “I don’t con- 
vict you, bear in mind. But the charge is backed up 
pretty strong, and I must do my duty.” 

Before leaving the corridor, Boynton espied Lou Went- 
worth, and hastily said to her as he passed: 

“Take care of my poor darling; see that nothing for 
her comfort is left undone. Tell her that I am innocent. I 
know that the test will be a severe one to her, but if she 
withstands it, the angels of heaven could never shake my 
confidence in her again!” 

This was all he had time to say ; and in another mo- 
ment he was hurried away by the impatient officer. 

Mrs. Boynton, upon recovering consciousness, recov- 
ered at the same time her usual calmness. Now that 
the worst had happened, the tension to which her nerves 
had been subjected was slackened, and she became 
marvelously cool and self-possessed. 

“Yes, Chester is innocent as I am,” she repeatedly 
declared in the long interview which she presently held 
with Roy Blanchard and Lou Wentworth — for to them 
alone did she feel like entrusting the many things which 
the emergency required to be done. Roy developed, at 
this time, a surprising amount of sound judgment, and a 
knowledge of what the occasion required. He had seen 
Jason Webb, and obtained from him the evidence which 
certainly made the case a dark one for Chester Boynton. 


142 


HER FAILING. 


u If Mr. Temple is still alive, cannot the truth be oR 
tained from him?” Lou questioned. 

“He hasn’t spoken a word since the 'Webbs discovered 
him,” Hoy answered, gravely. 

“Doesn’t the doctor give any hope?” 

“ Yery little.” 

“ And if he should die, without recovering conscious- 
ness?” 

“ The case would be a dark one, that is all. But we’ll 
hope for the best. In the meantime we must get legal 
counsel for Mr. Boynton. He must have the best.” 

Hoy went away upon this important errand. He con- 
sulted with Mr. Boynton, who was locked into a room in 
the village court-house — for the place could boast of no 
jail. An attempt to obtain Chester’s release under bail 
was made, but without success. The case was too grave 
a one — for, as the hours passed, it became almost a cer- 
tainty that Philip Temple w T ould die. Mr. Boynton 
must await the result of the crime, and if it terminated 
fatally, then he would be required to answer to the charge 
of mu7'der. 

Tracy visited him also; and when she came forth, and 
entered the carriage in which Lou and Roy were waiting 
for her, there was a look of tearful joy upon her beauti- 
ful face — such an expression as they had never seen there 
before. 

They did not ask the cause. Instinctively they knew 
the truth, before she said to them, after a long period of 
silence: 

“ Whatever comes, we trust each other. And when he 
is cleared of this dreadful suspicion we shall begin a new 
life, into which no distrust or lack of harmony can en- 
ter.” 

This was all she said to them then. And in her new 
happiness — the ioy of reconciliation — she seemed for the 
time to almost forget the dreadful danger menacing her 
husband. 

The days that immediately followed were full of pain- 


HER FAILING. 


143 


ful suspense. At the Webb cottage the victim of that 
terrible crime, Philip Temple, lay pale and unconscious, 
his life hanging by a thread. Tracy visited the cottage 
every day ; and she spent many an hour at the bedside of 
her former lover, ministering to his needs with all the 
tenderness of a sister. 

“ Oh, live, live!” she implored in her gentle tones, 
whenever she was left alone in the room with the patient. 
Upon one of these occasions he opened his eyes and fixed 
them upon her face. It seemed as though he recognized 
her — as though he were about to speak. With intense 
eagerness she bent over him. 

“ Philip, do you not know me?” she softly questioned. 

His lips moved; his face lighted up. With mad eager- 
ness she bent her face closer to his, breathlessly exclaim- 
ing: 

“ Tell me, Philip, who struck you? I am Tracy — 
don’t you see? Tell me who struct the cruel blow?” 

Would he answer? It seemed for a moment as though 
he would surely do so. A wild, swift prayer went up 
from her heart. But the next moment she drew bact 
with a cry of dispair. For Philip had closed his eyes; 
the look of recognition faded from his face; he sank into 
the heavy stupor which had characterized his illness from 
the first. 


144 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE END OF IT ALL. 

** The tale repeated o’er and o'er, 

With change of place and change of name. 

Disguised, transformed, and yet the same. 

We’ve heard a hundred times before.” 

—Longfellow. 

“ The doctor says he may live, hut that he cannot re- 
cover his memory of past events for months ; perhaps 
never.” 

Roy Blanchard said this to Lon, as they walked 
slowly away from the Webb cottage, nearly two weeks 
the events just described. 

The hour was near sunset. The air was pure and 
sweet, after a balmy September day. Roy and Lou were 
also among the frequent visitors at the cottage, and they 
nearly always went together. 

During these two weeks they had got along very har- 
moniously. Perhaps this was because they had not ven- 
tured upon anything like love making during the entire 
"period, as they had been deeply engaged by the troubles 
of their friends. 

“ How, then, will Mr. Boynton’s case ever be settled?” 
Lou questioned. 

“ If Mr. Temple lives, the sentence will not be so 
heavy, at least. But there will certainly be a sentence of 
some severity, and Mr. Boynton must remain under the 
shadow of a most terrible crime!” 

This was rather gloomily spoken, and Lou made no 
response. For several moments they walked onward in 
silence. Suddenly Roy paused and sank upon a fiat rock 
beside the path. Lou looked at him in surprise. 

“ Why have you stopped here? ” she asked. 

“ It is a good place to get rested,” he answered. 

“ Are you tired?” 

“ Yes, rather. Aren’t you ? I wish you would sit here 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


145 


with me. I haven’t had a good talk with you for a long 
while.” 

She hesitated. 

“ I think I’m not tired,” she slowly declared. Yet she 
allowed him to draw her to a seat by his side. 

“ Don’t you think it is about time that we got better 
acquainted with each other?” he asked. 

I thought we were pretty well acquainted already,” 
she demurely answered. 

“It is all upon one side. You understand me well 
enough, I’m sure. You can see that I am miserable 
nearly all the time — miserable because of my uncertainty. 
If I only knew whether you loved me, or were plotting 
to make a misanthrope of me. If I only knew.” 

She looked at him in vague wonder. There was a deal 
of passionate earnestness expressed in his tones. Was it 
real or feigned? Lou Wentworth’s heart throbbed with a 
sudden hope. Was he in earnest, after all ? If so, why 
did he not speak plainly ? If he loved her, and wished 
her to be his wife, why did he not tell her so? 

“ I’m going to take the risks,” Hoy went on, with a 
determined air. “ I’m not going to remain in doubt an- 
other hour. I cannot suffer from humiliated pride now; 
it is only my heart that can suffer, and in that I have no 
rest already.” 

He paused, looking at her with beseeching earnestness. 
Her face was half -averted ; her eyes drooped. 

“ Whenever I have approached you in anything like an 
earnest manner,” he continued, “ you have treated me with 
a lightness which has warned me off. I have tried very 
hard to satisfy myself that what I have heard concerning 
you was false, but I have been baffled by your guarded- 
ness. But I shall not be frightened off again. If you 
have the heart to add me to the list of your victims you 
may do so. I am in your power — be unmerciful if you 
will.” 

She interrupted him by a sudden, imperative gesture. 

10 


146 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


“ What do you mean?” she demanded, an indignant 
flash in her tones. He hesitated, and she went on: 

“ Tell me — why do you speak of me in that way ? 
Whom do you mean by my list of victims? Ho you ac- 
cuse me of winning hearts and casting them off ?” 

He half rose to his feet; he caught her hands in both 
his own, holding them fast. 

“ Isn’t it true, then ?” he questioned. “ I was told that 
you were heartless, that you had ruined the existence of 
a worthy young man by coquetry. I was told that you 
delighted in the use of your power over the hearts of men; 
that you won them as a mere idle sport, and laughed 
at their folly. I was told all this before I saw you, 
and I was warned to keep out of your meshes. But in 
vain. I have loved you from the first, and I love you 
now as the saints love their patron ! Lou, Lou ! — are you 
heartless? Is it impossible for you to be won?” 

“ Who told you this?” she demanded, drawing away 
from him, as though in doubt. 

“ Tell me it is false, and you shall know who has been 
your traducer,” he eagerly returned. 

“ It is false — every word. I never pretended to love 
anyone. I — I once rejected the love of one whom I had 
regarded only as a friend. But I never encouraged him, 
and that his heart was not broken is proven by his mar- 
rying a later choice — and for love, too. ” 

Possibly she would have said more if he had permitted. 
But he did not. He drew her to his heart m a close 
embrace, a flood of words springing from his lips — such 
words of fond endearment as omy a first true love can 
inspire. Blushing, trembling, with tears of unutterable 
joy in her eyes, she yielded herself to his strong, enfold- 
ing arms. 

How the moments of that sweet silence flew! How 
short human life would be if all its moments sped thus! 

She drew herself shyly away at length, and they seated 
themselves upon the rock. lie still dung to her hands, 
caressing them. 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


147 


“How strange that we should misunderstand each 
other so long,” she softly exclaimed, gazing out among 
the deepening shadows. 

“It is not strange, under the conditions of our ac- 
quaintance. I was warned against you, and like a blind 
fool I resolved not to love you. I resolved that you 
should not triumph over me, as you had done over other 
victims. That is why I appeared so fickle. My impulses 
would at times make me betray myself, and then when I 
imagined you were trying to draw me on to make a 
declaration of my love I would become guarded again. 
And you loved me all the while, darling? Did you?” 

“Yes!” Very softly the word was spoken. More 
time fleeted past. And then, eagerly : 

“ But you have not told me the name of the enemy 
who traduced me?” 

He hesitated. Then he replied: 

“ I half distrusted him all the while. And yet I could 
not see why he should wish to keep us apart. It was 
Mr. Brock!” 

“ The villain!” she cried. “ He would not let anyone 
in the world be happy if he could help it. Pie would 
like to have everyone lonely, and bitter, and shivering 
in the cold, like himself. He tried to separate Mr. Boyn- 
ton and Tracy. But for him her husband would never 
have been jealous. But, like a serpent, Mr. Brock fasci- 
nated his victim, winning his confidence. Then, upon 
the evening that. Philip Temple was first at the hotel, 
and he and Tracy sat upon the veranda together, Mr. 
Brock and her husband were out upon one of their strolls 
together. When they returned, Tracy was frightened by 
Mr. Boynton’s appearance. He did not explain the cause 
until since his arrest. Then he told her that Mr. Brock 
told him the story of his life. How that he wedded, 
years ago, a beautiful girl; how he nearly worshiped 
her, how he was then like other men, full of confidence 
in his fellow beings; and how his wife was won by a for- 
mer lover, and lost to him, plunging him into life-long 


US 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


misery, and causing him to become the misanthrope he 
is. lie told the story in such painfully vivid language 
that it made a strong impression upon the mind of Mr. 
Boynton. And then his jealousy was born, for, from 
Brock, he also learned that Tracy and Mr. Temple were 
once betrothed lovers. Brock has been the serpent in 
Eden from the first.” 

“ And to think how near he came to keeping us apart, 
too! I could throttle the villain!” Boy vehemently ex- 
claimed. 

A minute later Lou sprang to her feet. 

“See — how dark it is growing,” she cried. 

In their new-found joy they had not noticed that the 
twilight had deepened into darkness. There was no moon, 
and there were cloud-patches overhead. 

“We must go back, and hasten, too,” Lou eagerly de- 
clared. She shivered as she glanced toward the darkness 
into which they must go. She thought of the mysterious 
light; of the fatal attack upon Philip Temple; of the 
wild, strange stories concerning the locality which were 
afloat. 

Together they moved along the path. As they neared 
the spot at which the strange light was usually seen, Lou 
clung more closely to the arm of her companion. 

When they reached the spot, both instinctively glanced 
toward the place whence the light was accustomed to 
shine. But it was not there. The spot was enshrouded 
in densest gloom. But as they moved on, they heard the 
muffled tread of a horse. They paused, and withdrew 
themselves from the path. Lou trembled violently; and 
Boy, in spite of his accustomed self-possession, was in- 
stinctively impressed by a sense of impending events. 

The horse drew nearer; then the sound of voices be- 
came audible. These continued for several moments. 
Then there were other sounds — a shout, the rapid tramp 
of many feet, the galloping of a horse, and several objects 
sped past the place of our friends’ concealment. An in- 
stant later there were other shouts, seemingly in pursuit; 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


149 


lights flashed athwart the gloom ; and last, with startling 
nearness, the sound of a pistol shot. 

Roy saw a man, who was running part of the moment 
stumble and fall headlong to the earth, uttering a low 
cry of pain. A moment later two men with lanterns 
rushed upon the scene, and one of them bent over the 
one who had fallen. Roy recognized both of the new- 
comers. One was Jim Rice, the other the village sheriff. 
And at the same time others appeared, who were unmis- 
takably constables. Several ran on in pursuit of the 
fugitives. 

“ We’ve got one of the rascals, anyhow,” Rice ex- 
claimed. 

“ Is he dead?” the sheriff asked. 

“ Ho.” 

“We’ll take him along with us, then, and make him 
c peach ’ on the others.” 

Roy Blanchard at this moment stepped into the path, 
Lou clinging to his arm, pallid with fear. 

Jim Rice and the sheriff starred at them in open- 
mouthed astonishment. 

“ What is the meaning of this ?” Roy demanded. 

“ Hoss-thieves,” Rice laconically answered. He stood 
over the fallen stranger, tall and gaunt, swinging his 
lantern to and fro. 

“ They stole my hoss a spell ago, and they’ve stole four 
or five at the village afore this. And last night they got 
three more from the livery-stable. We’ve been watchin’ 
for ’em, and now we’ve got on their track. And I guess 
when we get ’em all in the lockup that mysterious light 
won’t puzzle folks yonder.” 

Roy listened to this piece of information with uncon- 
cealed eagerness. A sudden, startling suspicion had 
taken possession of his brain. He bent over the fallen 
thief, who lay in sullen silence staring up into their 
faces. 

“ Tell me, man,” Roy Blanchard cried, gazing down 
into the face of the ruffian, “ do you know whom struck 


150 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


down Philip Temple two weeks ago this night? If you 
know, speak and save an innocent man from condemna- 
tion. 5 ’ 

The man compressed his lips ; for a moment he hesi- 
tated. 

“ If I should tell you?” he presently asked in a husky 
tone. 

“ All that influence and money can do for you shall be 
done,” was the quick reply. 

“ All right. 1 didn’t knock the chap down, and the 
one that’s arrested didn’t, neither. The cap’n did it — 
the boss of our gang. The young chap was too persistent 
trying to And out what our signal light meant, and so the 
boss served him as he did young Webb — only this chap, 
’cording to all accounts, got the heaviest rap. Pretty 
nigh killed him, didn’t it?” 

Who can depict the eager delight with which Roy 
Blanchard and Lou Wentworth listened to this confes- 
sion, made there by the weird light of swaying lanterns, 
with the dark shadows all around them ? Or describe 
their haste back to the hotel, and the joy which they 
brought to the beautiful, faithful wife. 

“ I knew Chester was innocent !” Tracy repeatedly 
cried, in the ecstacy of her joy. “ I knew God would not 
let him suffer for another’s crime!” 

******* 

It is not in the fate of the horse thieves, who had so 
long held their mountain retreat, unsuspected by those 
who lived below, that the reader is most interested. Nor 
do you care whether J im Rice, and the village people re- 
covered their missing horses or not. You may have a 
passing interest to know that Mr. Stacy recovered from 
his fractured limb ; that J ason W ebb and his brave little 
wife continued to live in simple prosperity, a whole 
world to each other. You have a deeper anxiety for 
Philip Temple, who had been called upon to suffer so 
much. You are curious to know what has become of the 
cold, snake-like Mr. Brock ; the winsome Alma Burton ; 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


151 


perhaps you have a passing thought of the Gridleys, and 
of the other minor actors in our little drama. 

Concerning the horse thieves, let it suffice that their 
capture and confessions cleared Chester Boynton from 
every dark suspicion. And, upon his release, he gave his 
personal attention to the case of Philip Temple, and 
through his influence one of the most noted physicians 
in the country was secured to concentrate his skill in the 
young man’s behalf. The result was not achieved at 
once. There were weeks of uncertainty; but the efforts 
of his friends were at last crowned with success, and 
Philip got well — slowly; yet surely. 

The next summer saw them all back at Yinton’s Re- 
treat — all save Mr. Temple and Brock. The latter went 
south for the winter; and it was thought that he found 
the tropical climate congenial, for he lias not been seen 
at the north since. The reconciliation of Tracy and her 
husband was complete. Their experience, in which both 
were at fault, has taught them a lesson, and now their 
love and confidence is building upon surer foundations. 
They meet Philip occasionally. He and Chester are the 
warmest of friends. Y et the memory of his own folly — 
the giving way to that mad sweep of passion — can never 
be effaced. He will never marry. Of this we are sure, 
for, in his heart of hearts, he loves Tracy Boynton still ; 
loves her the better for her faithfulness to her husband ; 
for her strength, her purity, her honor. But there is no 
danger of his ever becoming weak again, for his regard 
for the wife of Chester Boynton, though deep and strong, 
is as chaste as that of a brother. 

Boy and Lou were not married for nearly a year. 
Since their return from their wedding tour abroad they 
have dwelt near the home of the Boyntons, and in sum- 
mer they go to the mountain retreat where they first met. 
And there they hold mock-quarrels ; and pretend to mis- 
understand each other. Lou visits the magic spring and 
sees the face of her husband reflected there — for he leans 
over her shoulder at the moment. And so their lives go 


152 


THE END OF IT ALL. 


on — not all brightness nor all poetry, to be sure, but as 
happy as true love ever is. It is Southey who said of 
love and its endurance: 

“ It is indestructible; 

Its holy flame forever bnrneth t 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. 


THE END, 


gsa’j&sera.facsA&ss .itt 

the ■women of our households when they undertake to make fcheil 
homos bright and cheery. Nothing deters them. Their weary work may 
be as long as the word wiaioh begins this paragraph, but they prove theil 
regard for decent homes by their indefatigability. What a pity that any 
*f them should add to their toil by neglecting to use Sapolio. It reduces 
>ino labor c£ cleaning and scorning at least one-half. 1C«. a cake. Sold b# 
jai growers. 

SOCIAL SOLUTIONS' 

0 Solutions Societies). 

By M. G-ODUST, 

Founder of the FamilisUre at Guise; Prominent Leader of Industrie* in 
France and Belgium ; Member of the National Assembly. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 
MARIE HOWLAND. 


I vol., l2mo, illustrated, cloth gilt, Si. 50. 


An admirable English translation of M. Godin’s statement of th® 
course of study which led him to conceive the Social Palace a> Guise, 
France. There is no question that this publication will mark an era 
in the growth of the labor question. It should serve as the manual for 
organized labor in its present contest, since, its teachings will as surely 
lead to the destruction of the wages system as the abolition movenxm* 
lead to that of chattel slavery. 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

X4 and 16 Vesey Street , NEW' YORK, 


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4 


ONE HOMAN PALACE 

Or, HILDA AND I. 


BY B. BEDELL BENJAYlfL 


One Volume , 12mo Paper, 20 cts.% Cloth, 31$ ris* 


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“ One of tlie most charming cr recent novels.” — Philadelphia Item. 

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“ The conversations are lively and spa; kling— the characters are alway 
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While being an uncompromising exponent of Socialism, the Credit 
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methods. Its Colonists are to be known as “ constructionists ” and “ individ- 
ualists " In contradestinction to a branch of socialists who favor destruction i 
and communism. f 

The Credit Foncier presents a matured plan, with details, for farm, t 
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to build for themselves homes, in keeping with solidity, art. and sanitation. 

It asks for evolution and not for revolution ; for inter-dependence and not 
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925 A Poor Gentleman, by Oliphant ... 20 

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929 Under a Shadow, by B. M. Clay. . .20 

930 A Struggle for a Ring, by B.M. Clay.20 

931 Why Not ? by Florence Marryat. . .20 

932 Hilary’s Folly, by Bertha M. Clay. .20 

933 A Haunted Life, by Bertha M. Clay.20 

934 A Woman’s Love Story, by Clay.. . .22 

935 Ten Thousand a Year, by Warren, 

P’t 1 20 

935 Ten Thousand a Year, by Warren, 
Ft II.... 20 

935 Ten Thousand a Year, by Warren, 

P’t HI 20 

936 Maid of Sker, by R. D. Blackmore..20 

937 My Sister the Actress, by Marryat. 20 

938 Captain Norton’s Diary, by Marryat.10 

939 The Girls of Feversham, by Marryat 20 

940 The Root of All Evil, by Marryat.. 20 

941 Dawn, by H. Rider Haggard 20 

942 Facing the Footlights, by Marryat.20 

943 Petronel, by Florence Marryat 20 

944 A Star and a Heart, by Marryat... 10 

945 Ange, by Florence Marryat 20 

946 A Harvest of Wild Oats, by Marryat.20 

947 The Poison of Asps, by F. Marryat.10 

948 Fair-Haired Alda, by F. Marryat. . . 20 

949 The Heir Presumptive, by Marryat.20 

950 Under the Lilies and Roses, by 

Florence Marryat 20 

951 The Heart of Jane Warner, by 

Florence Marryat 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, by Marryat, P’t I.. 20 

952 Love’s Conflict, by Marryat, P’t II.. 20 

953 Phyllida, by Florence Marryat 20 

954 Out of his Reckoning, by Marryat.10 

955 CradockNowell,byBlackmore,P’t 1.20 

955 Cradock Nowell, by R. D. Black- 

more, P’t II ..20 

956 The Woodlanders, by Hardy 20 

957 The Dead Secret, by Wilkie Collins.20 
858 Sabina Zembra, by William Black.. 20 

959 Wee Wifie, by R. N. Carey 20 

960 Wooed and Married, by Carey 20 

961 Springhaven, byR. D. Blackmore. .20 

962 Knight-Errant, by Edna Lyall 20 

963 Her Johnnie, by Violet Whyte 20 

964 Far from the Madding Crowd, by 

Thomas Hardy 20 

965 The Lilies of Florence, by G. Sand.20 

966 The Story of Our Mes3, Tribune 

Prize War Stories 20 

967 The Three Bummers, Tribune Prize 

War Stories 20 

968 Bound by a Spell, by Hugh Conway.20 

969 A Woman’s War, by B.M Clay 20 

970 Against her Will, by A. M. Howard.20 


Any of the above can be obtained from all booksellers and newsdealers, or will 
be sent free by mail, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

JOHN W. LOYELL COMPANY, 

Nos. 14 and 16 Vesey Street, New York. 



The treatment of many thousands of 
eases of those chronic weaknesses and 
distressing ailments peculiar to females, 
at the Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical In- 
stitute, Bulfalo, N. Y., has afforded a 
vast experience in nicely adapting and 
thoroughly testing remedies for the 
cure of woman’s peculiar maladies. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is the outgrowth, or result, of this 
great and valuable experience. Thou- 
sands of testimonials received from pa- 
tients and from physicians who have 
tested it in the more aggravated and 
obstinate cases which had baffled their 
skill, prove it to be the most wonderful 
remedy ever devised for the relief and 
cure of suffering women. It is not re- 
commended as a “cure-all,” but as a 
most perfect Specific for woman’s 
peculiar ailments. 

As a powerful, invigorating 
tonic it imparts strength to the whole 
system, and to the uterus, or womb and 
its appendages, in particular. For over- 
worked, “worn-out,” “run-down,” de- 
bilitated teachers, milliners, dressmak- 
ers, seamstresses, “shop-girls,” house- 
keepers, nursing mothers, and feeble 
women generally, Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription is the greatest earthly boon, 
being unequalled as an appetizing cor- 
dial and restorative tonic. It promotes 
digestion and assimilation of food, cures 
nausea, weakness of stomach, indiges- 
tion, bloating and eructations of gas. 

As a sootliing and strengthen- 
ing nervine, “ Favorite Prescription ” 
is unequalled and is invaluable in allay- 
ing and subduing nervous excitability, 
irritability, exhaustion, prostration, hys- 
teria, spasms and other distressing, nerv- 
ous symptoms commonly attendant upon 
functional and organic disease of the 
womb. It induces refreshing sleep and 
relieves mental anxiety and despond- 
ency. 

Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescrip- 
tion is a legitimate medicine’, 

carefully compounded by an experienc- 
ed and skillful physician, and adapted 
to woman’s delicate organization. It is 
purely vegetable in its composition and 


perfectly harmless in its effects in any 
condition of the system. 

“Favorite Prescription” is a 
positive cure for the most compli- 
cated and obstinate eases of leucorrhea, 
or “ whites,” excessive flowing at month- 
ly periods, painful menstruation, unnat- 
ural suppressions, prolapsus or falling 
of the womb, weak back, “female weak- 
ness,” anteversion, retroversion, bearing- 
down sensations, chronic congestion, in- 
flammation and ulceration of the womb, 
inflammation, pain and tenderness in 
ovaries, accompanied with internal heat. 

In pregnancy, “Favorite Prescrip- 
tion” is a “ mother’s cordial,” relieving 
nausea, weakness of stomach and other 
distressing symptoms common to that 
condition. If its use is kept up in the 
latter months of gestation, it so prepares 
the system for delivery as to greatly 
lessen, and many times almost entirely 
do away with the sufferings of that try- 
ing ordeal. 

“Favorite Prescription,” when 

taken in connection with the use of 
Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, 
and small laxative doses of Dr. Pierce’s 
Purgative Pellets (Little Liver Pills), 
cures Liver, Kidney and Bladder dis- 
eases. Their combined use also removes 
blood taints, and abolishes cancerous 
and scrofulous humors from the system. 

Treating tlie Wrong Disease.— 
Many times women call on their family 
physicians, suffering, as they imagine, 
one from dyspepsia, another from heart 
disease, another from liver or kidney 
disease, another from nervous exhaus- 
tion or prostration, another with pain 
here or there, and in this way they all 
present alike to themselves and their 
easy-going and indifferent, or over-busy 
doctor, separate and distinct diseases, 
for which he pi'escribes his pills and 
potions, assuming them to be such, 
when, in reality, they are all only symp- 
toms caused by some womb disorder. 
The physician, ignorant of the cause of 
suffering, encourages his practice until 
large bills are made. The suffering pa- 
tient gets no better, but probably worse 
by reason of the delay, wrong treatment 
and consequent complications. A prop- 
er medicine, like Dr. Pierce’s Favorite 
Prescription, directed to the cause would 
have entirely removed the disease, there- 
by dispelling all those distressing symp- 
toms, and instituting comfort instead of 
prolonged misery. 

44 Favorite Prescription ” is the 

only medicine for women sold, by drug- 
gists, under* a positive guarantee, 
from the manufacturers, that it will 
give satisfaction in every case, or money 
will be refunded. This guarantee has 
been printed on the bottle-wrapper, and 
faithfully carried out for many years. 
Targe bottles (100 doses) $1.00, or 
six bottles for $5.00. 

Send ten cents in stamps for Dr. 
Piex*ce’s large, illustrated Treatise (160 
pages) on Diseases of Women. Address, 
World's Dispensary Medical Association! 
No. 668 Main street, buffalo , n. Y. 



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